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PREFACE. 


I'd  rather  have  my  verses  win 
A  place  in  common  people's  hearts; 
Who,  toiling  through  the  strife  and  din 
Of  life's  great  thoroughfares  and  marts, 
May  read  some  Hue  my  hand  has  penned  : 
Some  simple  verse,  not  line,  or  grand, 
But  what  their  hearts  can  understand, 
And  hold  me  henceforth  as  a  friend — 
I'd  rather  win  such  quiet  fame, 
Than  by  some  line  thought,  polished  so 
But  those  of  learn-ed  minds  would  know 
Just  what  the  meaning  of  my  song, 
To  have  the  critics  sound  my  name 
In  high-flown  phrases,  loud  and  long. 
I  sing  not  for  the  critics  ear, 
But  for  the  masses.     If  they  hear 
.Despite  the  turmoil,  dm,  and  strife, 
Some  least  low  note  that  gladdens  life, 
I  shall  be  wholly  satisfied, 
Though  critics  to  the  end  deride. 

E.  W. 


ID 


MA  URINE,  Part  First,  !> 

"  Part  Second,  .  .  .  21 

"  Part  Third,  .  :$<> 

"  Part  Fourth,  -  .  .  -y; 

"  Part  Fifth,  .  .  ys 

"  Part  Sixth,  .  99 

"  .  Part  Seventh,  .  .  u<; 

SOUL  OF  AMERICA,  .        us 

THE   GOSSIPS,     -  .     i.-,i 

MOTHER  LOSS,  .          154 

NOW  THE  DAYS  ARE  GROWING   I.oXGKR,  .                       .    i-y; 

ALL  THE  WORLD,  .         I.-.7 

RIVER  AND  SEA,  -                        -     l.Vi 

THE  COMMON  PEOPLE,  .                                   .          KJO 

OUR  BLESSINGS,          -  .                        .     16:5 

A   FRAGMENT,          -  ...           KU 

MISJUDGED,        -  .            .     iisr> 

THE  MANIAC,          -  .                       .           |<;7 

THE  CHANGE,  .    1159 

RELICS,  .           .           .          17 1 

THE  DREAMER,  .            .                                    .     173 

NORINE,  .           ]74 

FLOWN  AAV  AY,                          -  .     177 

THE   WORLD,  .            .           ]7!» 

A  POEM,  -                                                .     ]S[ 

LOST,  .                        .           134 

UPON  THE  WAY,  .                                    .     i$7 

MY  VISION,     -  .           ISM 

RESIGNED,          -  .                       .    is),, 

TWO  JUNES,              -  .            .           i!t-» 

BLESS  THE  BABIES,  .                                                 .     1114 

SLANDER,       -  ...           ].,,; 

THE  VOLUPTUARY,  .     797 

PRINCE  OF  THE  AVALTXERS,  .           net 
AN  OLD  MAN'S   VIEW,        ....     ooi 

DYING  YEAR.           -                                    ...  .          op;; 

PLEA  TO  SCIENCE,                             .  .                             •>„- 

TAVO  SEASONS,        -  .            .           o()7 

OCKSTIONING,                                        ....  .    JOT  | 

THE  CHERUB  YEAR,        -  ...          ou 

SAVEETHEART,  .    .">,<, 

MY   LADY,                               .           .  .           r,|"( 
THE  BELLE  OF  THE  SEASON,     - 

THREE  AND  ONE,  .            .           .">,,, 

THROUGH  TEARS,       '  -                        ...     ~>->i 

MYSELF,          -  ...           .j.].; 


MAURINE. 


PART  FIRST. 


I  sat  and  sewed,  and  sang  some  tender  tune. 
0,  beauteous  was  that  morn  in  early  June  ! 
Mellow  with  sunlight,  and  with  blossoms  fair  : 
The  climbing  rose-tree  grew  about  me  there, 
And  checked  with  shade  the  sunny  portico 
Where,  morns  like  this,   L  came  to  read,  or  se\v 


I  heard  the1  gate  click,  and  a  firm  quick  tread 

Upon  the  walk.     Xo  need  to  turn  my  head  ; 

I  would  mistake,  and  doubt  my  own  voice  sounding, 

Before  A/*  step  upon  the  gravel  bounding. 

In  an  unstudied  attitude  of  grace, 

He  stretched  his  comely  form  ;  and  from  his  tare 

He  tossed  the  dark,  damp  curls,  and  loosed  his  collar. 

Baring  his  full,  grand  neck,  for  winds  to  kiss. 

With  one  white  perfect  hand.     Alone  by  this 

You'd  mark  him  as  a  poet  and  a  scholar. 

• 

There,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  at  my  knees. 


10  MAURINE. 

With  his  broad  hat  he  fanned  the  lazy  breeze. 
And  turned  his  head,  and  lifted  his  large  eyes, 
Of  that  strange  hue  we  see  in  ocean  dyes, 
And  call  it  blue  sometimes,  and  sometimes  green, 
And  save  in  poet-eyes,  not  elsewhere  seen. 


"  Lest  I  should  meet  with  my  fair  lady's  scorning, 

For  calling  quite  so  early  in  the  morning, 

I've  brought  a  passport  that  can  never  fail," 

He  said,  and,  laughing,  laid  the  morning  mail 

Upon  my  lap.     "I'm  welcome?  so  I  thought! 

I'll  figure  by  the  letters  that  I  brought 

How  glad  you  are  to  see  me.     Only  one? 

And  that  one  from  a  lady?     I'm  undone! 

That,  lightly  skimmed,  you'll  think  me  such  a  bore, 

And  wonder  why  I  did  not  bring  you  four. 

It's  ever  thus  :     a'  woman  can  not  get 

So  many  letters  that  she  will  not  fret 

O'er  one  that  did  not  come." 

"I'll  prove  you  wrong," 
I  answered  gayly,  "here  upon  the  spot! 
This  little  letter,  pre'cious  if  not  long, 
Is  just  the  one,  of  all  you  might  have  brought, 
To  please  me.     You  have  heard  me  speak,  I'm  sure, 
Of  Helen  Trevor  :    she  writes  here  to  say 
She's  coming  out  to  see  me  ;    and  will  stay 
'Till  Autumn,  maybe.     She  is,  like  her  note, 
Petite  and  dainty,  tender,  loving,  pure. 
You'd  know  her,  by  a  letter  that  she  wrote, 


MAURINE.  11 

For  a  sweet  tinted  thing.     'Tis  alway  so  : — 
Letters  all  blots,  though  finely  .written,  show 
A  slovenly  person.     Letters  stiff,  and  white 
Bespeak  a  nature,  honest,  plain,  upright. 
And  tissuey,  tinted,  perfumed  notes,  like  this, 
Tell  of  a  creature  formed  to  pet,  and  kiss." 


My  list'ner  heard  me  with  a  slow,  odd  smile  ; 
Stretched  in  abandon  at  my  feet,  the  while, 
He  fanned  me  idly  with  his  broad-brimmed  hat. 
"  Then  all  young  ladies  must  be  formed  for  that  !  " 
He  laughed,  and  said. 

"Their  letters  read,  and  look, 
As  like  as  twenty  copies  of  one  book. 
They're  written  in  a  dainty,  spider  scrawl, 
To  'darling,  precious  Kate,'  or  'Fan,'  or  'Moll.' 
The  'dearest,  sweetest'  friend  they  ever  had. 
They  say  they  '  want  to  see  you,  oh  so  bad  ! ' 
Vow  they'll  '  forget  you,  never,  ncrer,  oh  ! ' 
And  then  they  tell  about  a  splendid  beau — 
A  lovely  hat — a  charming  dress,  and  send 
A  little  scrap  of  this  to  every  friend. 
And  then  to  close,  for  lack  of  something  better, 
They  beg  you'll  'read  and  burn  this  horrid  letter.'' 


lie  watched  me,  smiling.     He  was  prone  to  vex 

And  hector  me  with  flings  upon  my  sex. 

Me  liked,  he  said,  to  have  me  flash,  and  frown  ; 


12  MAURINE. 

So  he  could  tease  me,  and  then  laugh  me  down. 

My  storms  of  wrath  amused  him  very  much  : 

He  liked  to  see  me  go  off  at  a  touch ; 

Anger  became  me — made  my  color  rise, 

And  gave  an  added  lustre  to  my  eyes. 

So  he  would  talk — and  so  he  watched  me  now, 

To  see  the  hot  flush  mantle  cheek  and  brow. 


Instead,  I  answered  coolly,  with  a  smile, 

Felling  a  seam  with  utmost  care,  meanwhile, 

"  The  caustic  tongue  of  Vivian  Dangerfield 

Is  barbed,  as  ever,  for  my  sex,  this  morn. 

Still  unconvinced,  no  smallest  point  I  yield. 

Woman  I  love,  and  trust,  despite  your  scorn. 

There  is  some  truth  in  what  you  say  ?     Well,  yes  ! 

Your  statements  usually  hold  more  or  less. 

Some  women  write  weak  letters — (some  men  do  ;) 

Some  'make  professions,  knowing  them  untrue. 

And  woman's  friendship,  in  the  time  of  need, 

I  own,  too  often  proves  a  broken  reed. 

But  I  believe,  and  ever  will  contend, 

Woman  can  be  a  sister  woman's  friend, 

(Jiving  from  out  her  large  heart's  bounteous  store 

A  living  love-y-claiming  to  do  no  more 

Than,  through  and  by  that  love,  she  knows  she  can  : 

And  living  by  her  professions,  like  n.  nrni. 

And  such  a  tie,  true  friendship's  silken  tether, 

Binds  Helen  Trevor's  heart  and  mine  together. 

I   love  her  for  her  beauty,  meekness,  grace  ; 


MAURINE.  13 

For  her  white  lily  soul  and  angel  face. 

She  loves  me,  for  my  greater  strength,  may  be  ; 

Loves — and  would  give  her  heart's  best  blood  for  me. 

And  I,  to  save  her  from  a  pain,  or  cross, 

Would  suffer  any  sacrifice  or  loss. 

Such  can  be  woman's  friendship  For  another. 

Could  man  give  more,  or  ask  more  from  a  brother?" 


I  paused  :    and  Vivian  leaned  his  massive  head 

Against  the  pillar  of  the  portico, 

.Smiled  his  slow,  skeptic  smile,  then  laughed,  and  said  : 

"  Nay,  surely  not — if  what  you  say  be  so. 

You've  made  a  statement,  but  no  proof's  at  hand. 

AVait — do  not  flash  your  eyes  so  !     Understand 

I  think  you  quite  sincere  in  all  you  say  : 

You  love  your  friend,  and  she  loves  you,  to-day  ; 

But  friendship  is  not  friendship  at  the  best 

Till  circumstances  put  it  to  the  test. 

Man's,  less  demonstrative,  stands  strain  and  tear, 

While  woman's,  half  profession,  fails  to  wear. 

Two  women  love  each  other  passing  well — 

Say  Helen  Trevor  and  Maurine  La  Pelle, 

Just  for  example. 

Let  them  daily  meet 

At  ball  and  concert,  in  the  church  and  street, 
They  kiss  and  coo — they  visit,  chat,  caress  ; 
Their  love  increases,  rather  than  grows  less  ; 
And  all  goes  well,  till  'Helen,  dear'  discovers 
That  'Maurine,  darling'  wins  too  many  lovers. 


14  MAURINE. 

And  then  her  'precious  friend,'  her  'pet,'  her  '  sweet, * 

Becomes  a  'minx,'  a  'creature  all  deceit.' 

Let  Helen  smile  too  oft  on  Maurine's  beaux, 

Or  wear  more  stylish  or  becoming  clothes, 

Or  sport  a  hat  that  has  a  longer  feather — 

And  lo  !    the  strain 'has  broken  'friendship's  tether.' 

Maurine's  sweet  smile  becomes  a  frown  or  pout  ; 

'  She's  just  begun  to  find  that  Helen  out.' 

The  breach  grows  wider — anger  fills  each  heart  ; 

They  drift  asunder,  whom  '  but  death  could  part.' 

You  shake  your  head  ?    Oh,  well,  Ave'll  never  know  ! 

It  is  not  likely  Fate  will  test  you  so. 

You'll  live,  and  love  ;    and,  meeting  twice  a  year, 

AVhile  life  shall  last,  you'll  hold  each  other  dear. 

I  pray  it  may  be  so  ;    it  were  not  best 

To  shake  your  faith  in  woman  by  the  test. 

Keep  your  belief,  and  nurse  it  while  you  can. 

I've  faith  in  woman's  friendship  too — for  man  ! 

They're  true  as  steel,  as  mothers,  friends,  and    wives  : 

And  that's  enough  to  bless  us  all  our  lives. 

That  man's  a  selfish  fellow,  and  a  bore, 

Who  is  unsatisfied,  and  asks  for  more." 


"  But  there  is  need  of  more  !  "    I  here  broke  in. 

"  I  hold  that  woman  guilty  of  a  sin, 

Who  would  not  cling  to,  and  defend  another, 

As  nobly  as  she  would  stand  by  a  brother. 

Who  would  not  suffer  for  a  sister's  sake, 

And,  were  there  need  to  prove  her  friendship,  make 


MAURINE.  15 

'Most  any  sacrifice,  nor  count  the  cost. 
Who  would  not  do  this  for  a  friend  is  lost 
To  every  nobler  principle." 

"  Shame,  shame  !  " 

Cried  Vivian,  laughing,    "  for  you  now  defame 
The  whole  sweet  sex  :  since  there's  not  one  would  do 
The  thing  you  name,  nor  would  I  want  her  to. 
I  love  the  sex.     My  mother  was  a  woman — 
I  hope  my  wife  will  be,  and  wholly  human. 
And  if  she  wants  to  make  some  sacrifice, 
I'll  think  her  far  more  sensible  and  wise 
To  let  her  husband  reap  the  benefit, 
Instead  of  some  old  maid  or  senseless  chit. 
Selfish  ?    Of  course  !    I  hold  all  love  is  so  : 
And  I  shall  love  my  wife  right  well,  I  know. 
Now  there's  a  point  regarding  selfish  love, 
You  thirst  to  argue  with  me,  and  disprove. 
But  since  these  cosy  hours  will  soon  be  gone, 
And  all  our  meetings  broken  in  upon, 
No  more  of  these  rare  moments  must  be  spent 
In  vain  discussion,  or  in  argument. 
I  wish  Miss  Trevor  was  in — Jericho  ! 
(You  see  the  selfishness  begins  to  show.)' 
She  wants  to  see  you? — So  do  I  :    but  she 
Will  gain  her  Avish,  by  taking  you  from  me. 
'Come  all  the  same?'   that  means  I'll  be  allowed 
To  realize  that  three  can  make  a  crowd. 
I  do  not  like  to  feel  myself  (k  trop. 
With  two  girl  cronies  would  I  not  be  so?       * 
My  ring  would  interrupt  some  private  chat. 


16  MAURINE. 

You'd  ask  me  in,  and  take  my  cane  and  hat, 

And  speak  about  the  lovely  summer  day, 

And  think — 'The  lout!    I  wish  he'd  kept  away.' 

Miss  Trevor  'd  smile,  but  just  to  hide  a  pout, 

And  count  the  moments  till  I  was  shown  out. 

And,  while  I  twirled  my  thumbs,  I  should  sit  wishing 

That  I  had  gone  off  hunting  birds,  or  fishing. 

No,  thanks  Maurine  !     The  iron  hand  of  Fate, 

(Or  otherwise  Miss  Trevor's  dainty  fingers,) 

AVill  bar  my  entrance  into  Eden's  gate  ; 

And  I  shall  be  like  some  poor  soul  that  lingers 

At  heaven's  portal,  paying  the  price  of  sin, 

Yet  hoping  to  be  pardoned  and  let  in." 


He  looked  so  melancholy  sitting  there, 

I  laughed  outright.     "  How  well  you  act  a  part ; 

You  look  the  very  picture  of  despair  ! 

You've  missed  your  calling,  sir  !    suppose  you  start 

Upon  a  starring  tour,  and  carve  your  name 

With  Booth's  and  Forrest's  on  the  heights  of  Fame. 

But  now,  tabooing  nonsense,  I  shall  send 

For  you  to  help  me  entertain  my  friend, 

Unless  you  come  without  it.     '  Cronies  '  ?     True, 

Wanting  our  '  private  chats '  as  cronies  do. 

And  we'll  take  those,  while  you  are  reading  Greek, 

Or  writing  'Lines  to  Dora's  brow,'  or  'cheek.' 

But  when  you  have  an  hour  or  two  of  leisure, 

Call  as  *you  now  do,  and  afford  like  pleasure. 

For  never  yet  did  heaven's  sun  shine  on, 


MAURINE.  17 

Or  stars  discover,  that  phenomenon, 

In  any  country,  or  in  any  clime  : 

Two  maids  so  bound,  by  ties  of  mind  and  heart, 

They  did  not  feel  the  heavy  weight  of  time 

In  weeks  of  scenes  wherein  no  man  took  part. 

God  made  the  sexes  to  associate  : 

Nor  law  of  man,  nor  stern  decree  of  Fate, 

•Can  ever  undo  what  His  hand  has  done, 

And,  quite  alone,  make  happy  either  one. 

My  Helen  is  an  only  child  : — a  pet 

Of  loving  parents  :    and  she  never  yet 

Has  been  denied  one  boon  for  which  she  pleaded. 

A  fragile  thing,  her  lightest  wish  was  heeded. 

AVould  she  pluck  roses?    they  must  first  be  shorn, 

By  careful  hands,  of  every  hateful  thorn. 

And  loving  eyes  must  scan  the  pathway  where 

Her  feet  may  tread,  to  see  110  stones  are  there. 

-She'll  grow  dull  here,  in  this  secluded  nook, 

Unless  you  aid  me  in  the  pleasant  task 

Of  entertaining.     Drop  in  with  your  book — 

Read,  talk,  sing  for  her  sometimes.     What  I  ask, 

Do  once,  to  please  me  :   then  there'll  be  no  need 

For  me  tq  state  the  case  again,  or  plead. 

There's  nothing  like  a  woman's  grace  and  beauty 

To  waken  mankind  to  a  sense  of  duty." 


"  I  bow  before  the  mandate  of  my  queen  : 
Your  slightest  wish  is  law,  Ma  Belle  Maurine," 
He  answered  smiling.     "  I'm  at  your  command  ; 


18  MAURINE. 

Point  but  one  lily  finger,  or  your  wand, 
And  you  will  find  a  willing  slave  obeying. 
There  goes  my  dinner  bell !     I  hear  it  saying 
I've  spent  two  hours  here,  lying  at  your  feet, 
Not  profitable,  may  be — surely  sweet. 
All  time  is  money  :   now  were  I  to  measure 
The  time  I  spend  here  by  its  solid  pleasure, 
And  that  were  coined  in  dollars, — then  I've  laid 
Each  day  a  fortune  at  your  feet,  fair  maid. 
There  goes  that  bell  again  !    I'll  say  good-bye, 
Or  clouds  will  shadow  my  domestic  sky. 
Nothing  will  try  a  woman's  temper,  quite, 
Like  trespassing  upon  her  appetite. 
I'll  come  again,  as  you  would  have  me  do, 
And  see  your  friend,  while  she  is  seeing  you. 
That's  like  by  proxy  being  at  a  feast ; 
Unsatisfactory,  to  say  the  least." 


He  drew  his  fine  shape  up,  and  trod  the  land 
With  kingly  grace.     Passing  the  gate,  his  hand 
He  lightly  placed  the  garden  wall  upon, 
Leaped  over  like  a  leopard,  and  was  gone.    , 


And,  going,  took  some  brightness  from  the  place,. 
Yet  left  the  June  day  with  a  sweeter  grace, 
xAnd  my  young  soul  so  steeped  in  happy  dreams. 
Heaven  itself  seemed  shown  to  me  in  gleams. 


MAURINE. 

There  is  a  time,  with  lovers,  when  the  heart 

First  slowly  rouses  from  its  dreamless  sleep, 

To  all  the  tumult  of  a  passion  life, 

Ere  yet  have  wakened  jealousy  and  strife. 

Just  as  a  young,  untutored  child  will  start 

Out  of  a  long  hour's  slumber,  sound  and  deep, 

And  lie  and  smile  with  rosy  lips,  and  cheeks, 

In  a  sweet  trance,  before  it  stirs  or  speaks. 

A  time  when  yet  no  word  the  spell  has  broken, 

Save  what  the  heart  unto  the  soul  has  spoken, 

In  quickened  throbs,  and  sighs  but  half  suppressed. 

A  time  when  that  sweet  truth,  all  unconfessed, 

(Jives  added  fragrance  to  the  summer  flowers, 

A  golden  glory  to  the  passing  hours, 

A  hopeful  beauty  to  the  plainest  face, 

And  lends  to  life  a  new  and  tender  grace. 


When  the  full  heart  has  climbed  the  heights  of  bliss, 

And,  smiling,  looks  back  o'er  the  golden  past, 

I  think  it  finds  no  sweeter  hour  than  this 

In  all  love-life.     For,  later,  when  the  last 

Translucent  drop  o'erflows  the  cup  of  joy, 

And  love,  more  mighty  than  the  heart's  control, 

Surges  in  words  of  passion  from  the  soul, 

And  vows  are  asked  and  given, — shadows  rise 

Like  mists  before  the  sun  in  noonday  skies, 

Vague  fears,  that  prove  the  brimming  cup's  alloy  : — 

A  dread  of  change — the  crowning  moment's  curse, 

Since  what  is  perfect,  change  but  renders  worse  : 


-20  MAURINE. 

A  vain  desire  to  cripple  Time,  who  goes 

Bearing  our  joys  away,  and  bringing  woes. 

And  later,  doubts  and  jealousies  awaken, 

And  plighted  hearts  are  tempest-tossed,  and  shaken. 

Doubt  sends  a  test,  that  goes  a  step  too  far, 

A  wound  is  made,  that,  healing,  leaves  a  scar, 

Or,  one  heart,  full  with  love's  sweet  satisfaction, 

Thinks  truth  once  spoken,  always  understood, 

While  one  is  pining  for  the  tender  action 

And  whispered  word  by  which,  of  old,  'twas  wooed. 


But  this  blest  hour,  in  love's  glad,  golden  day, 
Is  like  the  dawning,  ere  the  radiant  ray 
Of  glowing  Sol  has  burst  upon  the  eye, 
But  yet  is  heralded  in  earth  and  sky, 
"Warm  with  its  fervor,  mellow  with  its  light, 
While  Care  still  slumbers  in  the  arms  of  night. 
But  Hope,  awake,  hears  happy  birdlings  sing, 
And  thinks  of  all  a  summer  day  may  bring. 


In  this  sweet  calm,  my  young  heart  lay  at  rest, 
Filled  Avith  a  blissful  sense  of  peace  ;  nor  guessed 
That  sullen  clouds  were  gathering  in  the  skies 
To  hide  the  glorious  sun,  ere  it  should  rise. 


MAURINE.  21 


f 


ART     PECOND. 


To  little  birds  that  never  tire  of  humming 

About  the  garden,  in  the  summer  weather, 

Aunt  Ruth  compared  us,  after  Helen's  coming, 

As  we  two  roamed,  or  sat  and  talked  together. 

Twelve  months  apart,  we  had  so  much  to  say 

Of  school  days  gone — and  time  since  passed  away  : 

Of  that  old  friend,  and  this  ;   of  what  we'd  done  ; 

Of  how  our  separate  paths  in  life  had  run  ; 

Of  what  we  would  do,  in  the  coming  years  ; 

Of  plans  and  castles,  hopes  and  dreams  and  fears. 

All  this,  and  more, -as  soon  as  we  found  speech, 

We  touched  upon,  and  skimmed  from,  this  to  that. 

But  at  the  first,  each  only  gazed  on  each, 

And,  dumb  with  joy,  that  did  not  need  a  voice 

Like  lesser  joys,  to  say,    u  Lo  !    I  rejoice," 

With  smiling  eyes  and  clasping  hands,  we  sat 

Wrapped  in  that  peace,  felt  but  with  those  most  dear. 

Contented  just  to  knoAV  each  other  near. 

But  when  this  silent  eloquence  gave  place 

To  words,  'twas  like  the  rising  of  a  flood 

Above  a  dam.     We  sat  there,  face  to  face, 

And  let  our  tongues  run  on  whate'er  seemed  good,. 

Speech  never  halting  in  its  speed  or  zest, 


22  MAURINE. 

Save  when  our  rippling  laughter  let  it  rest ; 

Just  as  a  stream  will  sometimes  pause,  and  play 

About  a  bubbling  spring,  then  dash  away. 

No  wonder,  then,  the  third  day's  sun  was  nigh 

Up  to  the  zenith  when  my  friend  and  I 

Opened  our  eyes  from  slumber  long  and  deep  : 

Nature  demanding  recompense  for  hours 

Spent  in  the  portico,  among  the  flowers, 

Halves  of  two  nights  we  should  have  spent  in  sleep. 


So  this  third  day,  we  breakfasted  at  one  : 
Then  walked  about  the  garden  in  the  sun, 
Hearing  the  thrushes  and  the  robins  sing, 
And  looking  to  see  what  buds  were  opening. 
Maidens  delight  in  probing  a  flowers  heart, 
And  finding  the  hidden  beauty  of  the  whole, 
Just  as  they  like,  by  skillful  tact  and  art, 
To  find  the  secret  of  some  sister's  soul. 
'Tis  woman-nature  !   her  first  quenr,  "  Why  ?  " 
To  answer  which,  she  Uvses  her  quick  eye. 
Why  is  one  rose  more  drooping  than  the  rest? 
She  looks,  and  finds  a  worm  gnaws  at  its  breast. 
Why  one  so  red?     No  reason  she  can  sec, 
I'nlcss  because  it's  favorite  of  the  bee. 
And  so  she  finds,  through  logic,  skill  and  tact, 
Some  reason  for  each  sister's  mood  and  act. 
Used  as  she  uses  it,  among  her  bowers, 
Casting  the  worms  out,  lifting  pallid  flowers — 
(Jiving  them  light  and  moisture, — not  revealing 


MAURINE.  23 

What  sweet,  shy  secret,  red  rose  is  concealing, — 
Why,  then,  this  probing  but  results  in  good, 
And  answers  the  purpose  God  designed  it  should. 


The  clock  chimed  three,  and  we  yet  strayed  at  will 

About  the  yard  in  morning  dishabille, 

When  Aunt  Ruth  came,  with  apron  o'er  her  head, 

Holding  a  letter  in  her  hand,  and  said 

"  Here  is  a  note,  from  Vivian  I  opine  ; 

At  least  his  servant  brought  it.     And  now  girls, 

You  may  think  this  is  no  concern  of  mine, 

But  in  my  day  young  ladies  did  not  go, 

Till  almost  bed-time,  roaming  to  and  fro 

In  morning  wrappers,  and  with  tangled  curls, 

The  very  pictures  of  forlorn  distress. 

'Tis  three  o'clock,  and  time  for  you  to  dress. 

Come !   read  your  note  and  hurry  in,  Maurine, 

And  make  yourself  fit  object  to  be  seen." 


Helen  was  bending  o'er  an  almond  bush, 
And  ere  she  looked  up  I  had  read  the  note, 
And  calmed  my  heart,  that,  bounding,  sent  a  flush 
To  brow  and  cheek,  at  sight  of  aught  he  wrote. 
"  Ma  Belle  Maurine  :"   (so  Vivian's  billet  ran,) 
"  Isn't  it  time  I  saw  your  cherished  guest  ? 
'  Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  young  man ' 
Banished  from  all  that  makes  existence  blest. 
I'm  dying  to  see — your  friend  ;   and  I  will  come 


24  MAURINE. 

And  pay  respects,  hoping  you'll  be  at  home 
To-night  at  seven.     Expectantly,    V.  D." 


Inside  my  belt  I  slipped  the  billet,  saying, 
"  Helen,  go  make  yourself  most  fair  to  see  : 
Quick  !    hurry  now  !   no  time  for  more  delaying  I 
In  just  four  hours  a  caller  will  be  here, 
And  you  must  look  your  prettiest,  my  dear  ! 
Begin  your  toilet  right  away.     I  know 
How  long  it  takes  you  to  arrange  each  bow— 
To  twist  each  curl,  and  loop  your  skirts  aright. 
And  you  must  prove  you  are  au  fait  to-night, 
And  make  a  perfect  toilet :   for  our  caller 
Is  man,  and  critic,  poet,  artist,  scholar, 
And  views  with  eyes  of  all." 

"  Oil,  oh  !    Maurine  !  " 

Cried  Helen  with  a  well-feigned  look  of  fear, 
"  You've  frightened  me  so  I  shall  not  appear  : 
I'll  hide  away,  refusing  to  be  seen 
By  such  an  ogre.     Woe  is  me  !   bereft 
Of  all  my  friends,  my  peaceful  home  I've  left, 
And  strayed  away  into  the  dreadful  wood 
To  meet  the  fate  of  poor  Red  Riding  Hood. 
No,  Maurine,  no  !   you've  given  me  such  a  fright, 
I'll  not  go  near  3- our  ugly  wolf  to-night." 


Meantime  we'd  left  the  garden  ;    and  I  stood 
In  Helen's  mom,  where  she  had  thrown  herself 


MAURINE.  25 

Upon  a  couch,  and  lay,  a  winsome  elf, 

Pouting  and  smiling,  cheek  upon  her  arm, 

Xot  in  the  least  a  portrait  of  alarm. 

"Now  sweet!"   I  coaxed,  kneeling  by  her,    "he  good! 

Go  curl  your  hair  ;   and  please  your  own  Maurine, 

By  putting  on  that  lovely  grenadine. 

Xot  wolf,  nor  ogre,  neither  Caliban, 

Nor  Mephistopheles,  you'll  meet  to-night, 

But  what  the  ladies  call  '  a  nice  young  man ' ! 

Yet  one  worth  knowing — strong  with  health  and  might 

Of  perfect  manhood  ;  gifted,  noble,  wise  ; 

Moving  among  his  kind  with  loving  eyes, 

And  helpful  hand  ;  progressive,  brave,  refined, 

After  the  image  of  his  Maker's  mind." 


"  Now,  now,  Maurine  !  "  cried  Helen,  "  I  believe 

It  is  your  lover  coming  here  this  eve. 

Why  have  you  never  written  of  him  ?    pray  ! 

Is  the  day  set? — and  when?     Say,  Maurine,  say!" 


Had  I  betrayed  by  some  too  fervent  word 

The  secret  love  that  all  my  being  stirred? 

My  lover  ?    Ay  !     My  heart  proclaimed  him  so  ; 

But  first  ///*  lips  must  win  the  sweet  confession, 

Ere  even  Helen  be  allowed  to  know, 

I  must  straightway  erase  the  slight  impression. 

Made  by  the  words  just  uttered. 


26  MAURINE. 

"Foolish  child!" 

I  gayly  cried,  "  your  fancy's  straying  wild. 
Just  let  a  girl  of  eighteen  hear  the  name 
Of  maid  and  youth  uttered  about  one  time, 
And  off  her  fancy  goes,  at  hreak-neck  pace, 
Defying  circumstances,  reason,  space — 
And  straightway  builds  a  romance  so  sublime 
It  puts  all  Shakespeare's  dramas  to  the  shame. 
This  Vivian  Dangerfield  is  neighbor,  friend 
And  kind  companion  ;  bringing  books  and  flowers, 
And,  by  his  thoughtful  actions  without  end, 
Helping  me  pass  some  otherwise  long  hours  ; 
But  he  has  never  breathed  a  Avord  of  love. 
If  you  still  doubt  me,  listen  while  I  prove 
My  statement  by  the  letter  that  he  wrote. 
'  Dying  to  meet — my  friend  ?'   (she  could  not  see 
The  dash  between  that  meant  so  much  to  me.) 
'Will  come  this  eve,  at  seven;   hopes  we  may 
He  in  to  greet  him.'     Now  I  think  you'll  say 
'Tis  not  much  like  a  lover's  tender  note. 
There — go  and    'fix';   and  look  your  prettiest. 
A  first  impression's  everything.     Put  on 
The  dress  I  spoke  of.     I?     Oh,  I  will  don — 
I  don't  know  what !     The  first  thing  that  I  touch 
There  in  my  wardrobe.     It  won't  matter  much, 
For  Vivian's  seen  me  at  my  worst,  and  best." 


We  laugh,  we  jest,  not  meaning  what  we  say  ; 

\\V  hide  our  thoughts,  by  light  words  lightly  spoken, 


MAURINE.  27 

And  pass  on  heedless,  till  we  find  one  day 

They've  bruised  our  hearts,  and  left  some  other  broken. 


I  sought  my  room,  trilling  some  merry  air  ; 

Opened  my  wardrobe,  wond'ring  what  to  wear. 

Momentous  question  !   femininely  human  ! 

More  than  all  others,  vexing  mind  of  woman, 

Since  Eve  first  plucked  the  fig  leaves,  hesitating 

Before  she  used  them — mentally  debating 

Whether  palm  leaves  would  not  be  more  becoming. 

So  at  my  wardrobe,  I  stood,  lightly  humming, 

All  undecided  what  I  should  put  on. 

At  length  I  made  selection  of  a  lawn — 

White,  with  a  tiny  pink  vine  overrun  :— 

My  simplest  robe,  but  Vivian's  favorite  one. 

(J-irding  it  with  a  ribbon-belt  of  rose. 

And  placing  a  single  flowret  in  my  hair, 

I  crossed  the  hall  to  Helen's  chamber,  where 

I   found  her  overhauling  all  her  clothes, 

Seeking  the  robe  she  wanted. 

"  What !  all  dressed  ?  " 

She  cried,  "  I  see  you're  just  as  spry  as  ever. 
Xow,  Maurine,  tell  me  why  it  is  I  never 
Can  find  my  things  right  handily  like  you. 
I've  lost  my  dress!  you  needn't  laugh,  it's  true! 
Oh  !  here  it  is,  hanging  behind  the  rest. 
Xow  find  my  skirts,  please,  while  I  loop  my  curls, 
And  I  will  call  you  just  the  best  of  girls." 


28  MAURINE. 

'Twas  like  a  picture,  or  a  pleasing  play, 

To  watch  her  make  her  toilet.     She  would  stand, 

And  turn  her  head  first  this,  and  then  that  way, 

Trying  effect  of  ribbon,  bow  or  band. 

Then  she  Avould  pick  up  something  else,  and  curve 

Her  pretty  neck,  with  cunning,  bird-like  grace, 

And  watch  the  mirror  while  she  put  it  on, 

With  such  a  sweetly  grave  and  thoughtful  face  ; 

And  then  to  view  it  all  would  SAvay,  and  swerve 

Her  lithe  young  body,  like  a  graceful  swan. 


Helen  Avas  over  medium  height,  and  slender 

Even  to  frailty.     Her  large,  Avistful  eyes 

Were  like  the  deep  blue  of  autumnal  skies  ; 

And  through  them  looked  her  soul,  large,  loving,  tender. 

Her  long,  light  hair  was  lusterless,  except 

Upon  the  ends,  where  burnished  sunbeams  slept, 

And  on  the  ear-locks  ;   and  she  looped  the  curls 

Back  Avith  a  shell  comb,  studded  thick  Avith  pearls, 

Costly  yet  simple.     Her  pale  loATeliness, 

That  night,  Avas  heightened  by  her  rich,  black  dress. 

That  trailed  behind  her,  leaving  half  in  sight 

Her  taper  arms,  and  shoulders  marble  Avhite. 


I  Avas  not  tall  as  Helen,  and  my  face 

Had  the  full  contour  of  my  grandsire's  race; 

For  through  his  veins  my  own   received  the  warm. 


MAURINE.  29 

Red  blood  of  France,  which  rounded  out  my  form, 
And  glowed  upon  my  cheek  in  crimson  dyes, 
And  bronzed  my  hair,  and  darkled  in  my  eyes. 
And  as  the  morning,  trailing  the  skirts  of  night, 
And  dusky  night,  stealing  the  garb  of  morn, 
(io  hand  in  hand  what  time  the  day  is  born, 
So  we  two  glided  down  the  hall  and  stair, 
Ann  clasping  arm,  into  the  parlor,  where 
Sal  Vivian,  bathed  in  -sunset's  gorgeous  light. 
He  rose  to  greet  us.     Oh  !   his  form  was  grand  ; 
And  he  possessed  that  power,  strange,  occult, 
Called  magnetism,  lacking  better  word, 
Which  moves  the  world,  achieving  great  result 
Where  genius  fails  completely.     Touch  his  hand, 
It  thrilled  through  all  your  being — meet  his  eye, 
And  you  were  moved,  yet  knew  not  how,  or  why. 
Let  him  but  rise,  you  felt  the  air  was  stirred 
By  an  electric  current. 

This  strange  force 

Is  mightier  than  genius.     Rightly  used, 
It  leads  to  grand  achievements  ;  all  things  yield 
Before  its  mystic  presence,  and  its  field 
Is  broad  as  earth  and  heaven.     But  abused, 
It  sweeps  like  a  poison  simoon  on  its  course, 
Bearing  miasma  in  its  scorching  breath, 
And  leaving  all  it  touches  struck  with  death. 


Far-reaching  Science  shall  yet  tear  away 
The  mystic  garb  that  hides  it  from  the  day, 


30  MAURINE. 

And  drag  it  forth,  and  bind  it  with  its  laws, 
And  make  it  serve  the  purposes  of  men, 
(iuided  by  common  sense  and  reason.     Then 
We'll  hear  no  more  of  seance,  table-rapping, 
And  all  that  trash,  o'er  which  the  world  is  gaping, 
Lost  in  effect,  Avhile  Science  seeks  the  cause. 


Vivian  was  not  conscious  of  his  power  : 

<  )r,  if  he  was,  knew  not  its  full  extent. 

lie  knew  his  glance  would  make  a  wild  beast  cower, 

And  yet  he  knew  not  that  his  large  eyes  sent 

Into  the  heart  of  woman  the  same  thrill 

That  made  the  lion  servant  of  his  will. 

And  even  strong  men  felt  it. 

He  arose, 

Readied  forth  his  hand,  and,  in  it,  clasped  my  own, 
While  I  held  Helen's  ;   and  he  spoke  some  word 
Of  pleasant  greeting  in  his  low,  round  tone, 
Unlike  all  other  voices  I  have  heard. 
Just  as  the  white  cloud,  at  the  sunrise,  glows 
With  roseate  colors,  so  the  pallid  hue 
Of  Helen's  cheek,  like  tinted  sea-shells  grew. 
Through  mine,  his  hand  caused  hers  to  tremble  :  such 
Was  the  all-mast'ring  imunc  of  his  touch. 


Then  we  sat  down,  and  talked  about  the  weather, 
The  neighborhood — some  author's  last  new  book. 


MAURINE.  31 

But,  when  I  could,  I  left  the  two  together 
To  make  acquaintance,  saying,  I  must  look 
After  the  chickens — my  especial  care  ; 
And  ran  away,  and  left  them,  laughing,  there. 


Knee-deep,  through  clover,  to  the  poplar  grove, 

I  waded,  where  my  pets  were  wont  to  rove  : 

And  there  I  found  the  foolish  mother  hen 

Brooding  her  chickens  underneath  a  tree, 

An  easy  prey  for  foxes.     "Chick  a  dee." 

Quoth  I,  while  reaching  for  the  downy  things 

That,  chirping,  peeped  from  out  the  mother-wings, 

"How  very  human  is  your  folly!     When 

There  waits  a  haven,  pleasant,  bright,  and  warm, 

And  one  to  lead  you  thither  from  the  storm 

And  lurking  dangers,  yet  you  turn  away, 

And,  thinking  to  be  your  own  protector,  stray 

Into  the  open  jaws  of  death  :    for,  see! 

An  owl  is  sitting  in  this  very  tree 

You  thought  safe  shelter.     Go  now  to  your  pen." 

And,  followed  by  the  clucking,  clam'rous  hen, 

So  like  the  human  mother  here  again, 

Moaning  because  a  strong,  protecting  arm 

Shielded  her  little  ones  from  cold  and  harm, 

I  carried  back  my  garden  hat  brim  full 

Of  chirping  chickens,  like  white  balls  of  wool, 

And  snugly  housed  them. 

And  just  then  I  heard 
A  sound  like  gentle  winds  among  the  trees, 


32  MAURINE. 

Or  pleasant  waters,  in  the  Summer,  stirred 
And  set  in  motion  by  a  passing  breeze. 
'Twas  Helen  singing  :   and,  as  I  drew  near, 
Another  voice,  a  tenor  full  and  clear, 
Mingled  with  hers,  as  murmuring  streams  unite, 
And  flow  on  stronger  in  their  wedded  might. 


It  was  a  way  of  Helen's,  not  to  sing 

The  songs  that  other  people  sang.     She  took 

Sometimes  an  extract  from  an  ancient  book  ; 

Again  some  floating,  fragmentary  Jhing, 

And  such  she  fitted  to  old  melodies, 

Or  else  composed  the  music.     One  of  these 

She  sang  that  night ;   and  Vivian  caught  the  strain, 

And  joined  her  in  the  chorus,  or  refrain. 


SONG. 


O  thou,  mine  other,  stronger  jm-t  ! 
Whom  yet  I  cannot  hear,  or  see, 
Come  thou,  and  take  this  loving  heart, 
That  longs  to  yield  its  all  to  thee, 
I  call  mine  own — Oh  come  to  me ! 
1-ove,  answer  back,  I  come  to  thee, 

I  come  to  thee. 


This  hungry  heart,  so  warm,  so  large, 

Is  far  too  great  a  care  for  me. 
I  have  grown  weary  of  the  charge 


MAURINE.  33 


I  keep  so  sacredly  for  thee. 

Come  thou,  and  take  my  heart  from  me. 

Love,  answer  back,  I  come  to  thee, 

I  come  to  thee. 


I  am  aweary,  waiting  here 

For  one  who  tarries  long  from  me. 
O !   art  thou  far,  or  art  thou  near  ? 

And  must  I  still  be  sad  for  thee? 

Or  wilt  thou  straigiitway  come  to  me? 

Love,  answer,  I  am  near  to  thee, 

I  come  to  thee. 


The  melody,  so  full  of  plaintive  chords, 

Sobbed  into  silence, — echoing  down  the  strings 

Like  voice  of  one  who  walks  from  us,  and  sings. 

Vivian  had  leaned  upon  the  instrument 

The  while  they  sang.     But,  as  he  spoke  those  words, 

"  Love,  I  am  near  to  thee,  I  come  to  thee," 

He  turned  his  grand  head  slowly  round,  and  bent 

His  lustrous,  soulful,  speaking  gaze  on  me. 

And  my  young  heart,  eager  to  own  its  king, 

Sent  to  my  eyes  a  great,  glad,  trustful  light, 

Of  love  and  faith,   and  hung  upon  my  cheek 

Hope's  rose-hued  flag.     There  was  no  need  to  speak. 

I  crossed  the  room,  and  knelt  by  Helen.     "Sing 

That  song  you  sang  a  little  of  one  night, 

Out  on  the  porch,  beginning  '  Praise  me  not,' " 

I  whispered  :    and  her  sweet  and  plaintive  tone 

Rose,  low  and  tender,  as  if  she  had  caught 

From  some  sad  passing  breeze,  and  made  her  own, 


34  MAURINE. 

The  echo  of  the  wind-harp's  sighing  strain, 
Or  the  soft  music  of  the  falling  rain. 

SONG. 


O  praise  me  not  with  your  lips,  dear  one! 

Though  your  tender  words  1  prize. 
But  dearer  by  far  is  the%oulful  gaze, 

Of  your  eyes,  your  beautiful  eyes, 
Your  tender,  loving  eyes. 


O  chide  me  not  with  your  lips,  dear  one! 

Though  I  cause  your  bosom  sighs. 
You  can  make  repentance  deeper  far 

By  your  sad,  reproving  eyes, 

Your  sorrowful,  troubled  eyes. 


Words,  at  the  best,  are  but  hollow  sounds; 

Above,  in  the  beaming  skies, 
The  constant  stars  say  never  a  worxl, 

But  only  smite  with  their  eyes — 

Smile  on  with  their  lustrous  eyes. 


Then  breathe  no  vow  with  your  lips,  dear  one ; 

On  the  wing-ed  wind,  speech  flies. 
But  I  read  the  truth  of  your  noble  heart 

In  your  soulful,  speaking  eyes — 

In  your  dee])  find  beautiful  eyes. 


The  twilight  darkened  'round  us,  in  the  room, 
While  Helen  sang  ;   and,  in  the  gath'ring  gloom. 
Vivian  reached  out,  and  took  my  hand  in  his, 


MAURINE.  35 

And  held  it  so  ;   while  Helen  made  the  air 
Languid  with  music.     Then  a  step  drew  near, 
And  voice  of  Aunt  Ruth  broke  the  spell ; 

"Dear!   dear! 

Why  Maurie,  Helen,  children  !   how  is  this? 
I  hear  you,  but  you  have  no  light  in  there. 
Your  room  is  dark  as  Egypt.  •  What  a  way 
For  folks  to  visit ! — Maurie,  go,  I  pray, 
And  order  lamps." 

And  so  there  came  a  light, 
And  all  the  sweet  dreams  hovering  'round 
The  twilight  shadows  flitted  in. affright: 
And  e'en  the  music  had  a  harsher  sound. 


In  pleasant  converse  passed  an  hour  away  : 

And  Vivian  planned  a  picnic  for  next  day — 

A  drive  the  next,  and  rambles  without  end, 

That  lie  might  help  me  entertain  my  friend. 

And  then  he  rose,  bowed  low,  and  passed  from  sight, 

Like  some  great  star  that  drops  out  from  the  night  ; 

And  Helen  watched  him  through  the  shadows  go. 

And  turned  and  said,  her  voice  subdued  and  IOAV, 

"  How  tall  he  is  !   in  all  my  life,  Maurine, 

A  grander  man  I  never  yet  have  seen." 


36  MAURINE. 


PART  THIRD. 


One  golden  twelfth-part,  of  a  checkered   year  : 
One  summer  month,  of  sunlight,  moonlight,  mirth, 
AVith  not  a  hint  of  shadows  lurking  near 
Or  storm  clouds  brewing. 

'Twas  a  royal  day  : 

Voluptuous  July,  held  her  lover,   Earth, 
With  her  warm  arms,  upon  her  glowing  breast, 
And  twined  herself  about  him,  as  he  lay 
Smiling  and  panting  in  his  dream-stirred  rest. 
She  bound  him  with  her  limbs  of  perfect  grace. 
And  hid  him  with  her  trailing  robe  of  green, 
And  wound  him  in  her  long  hair's  shimmering  sheen, 
And  rained  her  ardent  kisses  on  his  face. 

Through  the  glad  glory  of  the  summer  land 
Helen  and  I  went  wand'ring,  hand  in  hand. 
In  winding  paths,  hard  by  the  ripe  wheat  field, 
White,  with  the  promise  of  a  bounteous  yield, 
Across  the  late  shorn  meadow — down  the  hill 
Red  with  the  tiger-lily  blossoms,  till 
\Ve  stood  upon  the  borders  of  the  lake 
That  like  a  pretty,  placid  infant  slept 
Low  at  its  base  :   and  little  ripples  crept 
Along  its  surface,  just  as  dimples  chase 


MAURINE.  37 

Each  other,  o'er  an  infant's  sleeping  face. 

Helen  in  idle  hours  had  learned  to  make 
A  thousand  pretty,  feminine  knick-knacks  : 
For  brackets,  ottomans,  and  toilet  stands — 
Labor  just  suited  to  her  dainty  hands. 

That  morning  she  had  been  at  work  in  wax, 
Moulding  a  wreath  of  flowers  for  my  room, — 
Taking  her  patterns  from  the  living  blows 
In  all  their  dewy  beauty  and  sweet  bloom 
Fresh  from  my  garden.     Fuchsia,  tulip,  rose, 
And  trailing  ivy,  grew  beneath  her  touch, 
Resembling  the  living  plants,  as  much 
As  life  is  copied  in  the  form  of  death  : 
These  lacking  but  the  perfume,  and  that,  breath. 


And  now  the  wreath  was  all  completed,  save 

The  mermaid  blossom  of  all  flowerdom, 

A  water  lily,  dripping  from  the  wave. 

And  'twas  in  search  of  it  that  we  had  come 

Down  to  the  lake,  and  wandered  on  the  beach 

T«i  sec  if  any  lilies  grew  in  reach. 

Some  broken  stalks,  where  flowers  late  had  been; 

Some  buds,  with  all  their  beauties  folded  in, 

We  found,  but  not  the  treasure  that  AVC  sought. 

And  then  we  turned  our  footsteps  to  the  spot 

Where  all  impatient  of  its  chain,  my  boat 

i(  The  8 wan  "  rocked,  asking  to  be  set  afloat. 

It  was  a  dainty  row  boat — strong  yet  light  ; 

Kadi  side  a  swan  was  painted  snowy  white  : 


38  MAURINE. 

A  present  from  my  uncle,  just  before 

He  sailed,  with  Death,  to  that  mysterious  strand, 

Where  freighted  ships  go  sailing  evermore, 

Hut  none  return  to  tell  us  of  the  land. 

I  freed  the  "Swan,"  and  slowly  rowed  about 
Wherever  sea-weeds,  grass,  or  green  leaves  lifted 
Their  tips  above  the  water.     So  we  'drifted 
While  Helen,  opposite,  leaned  idly  out 
And  watched  for  lilies  in  the  waves  below, 
And  softly  crooned  some  sweet  and  dreamy  air 
That  soothed  me  like  a  mother's  lullabies. 
I  dropped  the  oars,  and  closed  my  sun-kissed  eyes. 
And  let  the  boat  go  drifting  here  and  there. 
<)  happy  day!   the  last  of  that  brief  time 
Of  thoughtless  youth,  when  all  the  world  seems  brighl, 
Ere  that  disguis-ed  angel  men  call  Woe 
Leads  the  sad  heart  through  valleys  dark  as  night, 
rp  to  the  heights  exalted  and  sublime. 
On  each  blest,  happy  moment,  1  am  fain 
To  linger  long,  ere  I  pass  on  to  pain 
And  sorrow  that  succeeded. 

From  day  dreams, 

As  golden  as  the  summer  noon-tide's  beams, 
F  was  awakened  by  a  voice  that  cried. 
"Strange  ship  ahoy!     Fair  frigate,  whither  bound?" 
And,  starting  up,  I  cast  my   ga/e  around, 
And  saw  a  sail  boat  o'er  the  water  glide 
Close  to  the  "Swan,"  like  some  live  thing  of  grace;. 
And  from  it  looked  the  glowing,  handsome  face 
Of  Vivian. 


MAURINE..  39 

"  Beauteous  sirens  of  the  sea, 
Come  sail  across  the  raging  main  with  me  !  " 
He  laughed  ;   and  leaning,  drew  our  drifting  boat 
Beside  his  own.     "  There  now  !   step  in  ! "  he  said, 
"  I'll  land  you  anywhere  you  want  to  go — 
My  hoat  is  safer  far  than  yours.  I  know  : 
And  much  more  pleasant  with  its  sails  all  spread. 
The  Swan?     We'll  take  the  oars,  and  let  it  float 
Ashore  at  leisure.     You,  Maurine,  sit  there — 
Miss  Helen  here.     Ye  gods  and  little  fishes! 
I've  reached  the  height  of  pleasure,  and  my  wishes. 
Adieu  despondency  !   farewell  \o  care  ! 
What  greater  boon  could  man  desire  than  this — 
To  skim  the  waters  under  balmy  skies, 
Cheered  by  soft  glances  from  two  Houris'  eyes, 
Fanned  by  sweet  winds?     Oh  ecstasy  of  bliss  !" 


T\vns  done  so  quickly  :    that  was  Vivian's  way. 

He  did  not  wait  for  either  yea,  or  nay. 

He  gave  commands,  and  left  you  with  no  choice 

But  just  to  do  the  bidding  of  his  voice. 

His  rare  kind  smile,  low  tones,  and  manly  face 

Lent  to  his  quick  imperiousness  a  grace 

And  winning  charm,  completely  stripping  it 

Of  what  might  otherwise  have  seemed  unfit. 

Leaving  no  trace  of  tyranny,  but  just 

Tli at  nameless  force  that  seemed  to  say,  "You  must/' 


40  MAURINE. 

Suiting  its  pretty  title  of  "  The  Dawn," 

(So  named,  he  said,  that  it  might  rhyme  with  "  Swan,") 

Vivian's  sail  boat,  Avas  carpeted  with  blue, 

While  all  its  sails  were  of  a  pale  rose  hue. 

The  daintiest  craft  that  flirted  with  the  breeze  : 

A  poet's  fancy  in  an  hour  of  ease. 


Whatever  Vivian  had  was  of  the  best. 
His  room  was  like  some  Sultan's  in  the  east. 
His  board  was  always  spread  as  for  a  feast. 
Whereat,  each  meal,  he  was  both  host  and  guest. 
He  would  go  hungry  sooner  than  he'd  dine 
At  his  own  table  if  'twere  illy  set. 
He  so  loved  things  artistic  in  design — 
Order,  and  beauty,  all  about  him.     Yet 
So  kind  he  was,  if  it  befell  his  lot 
To  dine  within  the  humble  peasant's  cot, 
He  made  it  seem  his  native  soil  to  be, 
And  thus  displayed  the  true  gentility. 


Under  the  rosy  banners  of  the  "  Dawn," 
Around  the  lake  we  drifted  on,  and  on. 
It  was  a  time  for  dreams,  and  not  for  speech. 
And  so  we  floated  on  in  silence,  each 
Weaving  the  fancies  suiting  such  a  day. 
Helen  leaned  idly  o'er  the  sail  boat's  side, 
And  dipped  her  rosy  fingers  in  the  tide  ; 
And  I,  among  the  cushions  half  reclined, 


MAURINE.  41 

Half  sat,  and  watched  the  fleecy  clouds  at  play, 
While  Vivian  with  his  blank-hook,  opposite, 
In  which  he  seemed  to  either  sketch  or  write, 
Was  lost  in  inspiration  of  some  kind. 


No  time,  no  change,  no  scene  can  e'er  efface 
My  mind's  impression  of  that  hour,  and  place  : 
It  stands  out  like  a  picture.     O'er  the  years, 
Black  with  their  robes  of  sorrow — veiled  with  tears, 
Lying  with  all  their  lengthened  shapes  between, 
Untouched,  undimmed,  I  still  behold  that  scene. 
Just  as  the  last  of  Indian  summer  days, 
Perfect  witli  sunlight,  crowned  with  amber  ha/e. 
Followed  by  dark  and  desolate  December, 
Through  all  the  months  of  winter  we  remember. 


The  sun  slipped  westward.     That  peculiar  change 
Which  creeps  into  the  air,  and  speaks  of  night 
While  yet  the  day  is  full  of  golden  light. 
We  felt  steal  o'er  us. 

Vivian  broke  the1  spell 

of  dream-fraught  silence,  throwing  down  his  book  : 
"Young  ladies,  please  allow  me  to  arrange 
These  wraps  about  your  shoulders.     I.  know  well 
The  fickle  nature  of  our  atmosphere, — 
Her  smile  swift  followed  by  a  frown  or  tear — 
And  go  prepared  for  changes.     Now  you  look, 
l/ikc — like — oh,  where 's  a  pretty  simile? 


42  MAURINE. 

Had  you  a  pocket  mirror  here  you'd  see 

How  well  my  native  talent  is  displayed 

In  shawling  you.     Red  on  the  brunette  maid  ; 

Blue  on  the  blonde — and  quite  without  design. 
•(Oh  where  ?'*  that  comparison  of  mine  !) 

Well- — like  a  June  rose  and  a  violet 

In  one  bouquet!     Will  that  do  for  a  start? 

You  know  I'm  but  a  novice  in  the  art 
Of  complimenting.     Please  do  not  forget 

My  maiden  effort  of  this  afternoon. 

And  now  I  crave  your  patience,  and  a  boon  ! 

Which  is  to  listen,  while  I  read  my  rhyme, 

A  floating  fancy  of  the  Summer  time. 

It's  neither  witty,  wonderful,  nor  wise. 

So  listen  kindly — but  don't  criticize  : 


If  all  the  ships  I  have  at  sea 
Should  come  a-sailing  home  to  me, 
All  well!   the  harbor  could  not  hold 
So  many  sails  as  there  would  be 
Tf  all  my  ships  came  in  from  sea. 


If  half  my  ships  came  home  from  sea, 
And  brought  their  precious  freight  to  me, 
Ah  well!    I  should  have  wealth  as  great 
As  any  king,  who  sits  in  state — 
So  rich  the  treasures  that  would  be 
In  half  my  ships  now  out  at  sea. 


If  just  one  ship  I  have  at  sea 

Should  come  a-sailing  home  to  me, 

Ah,  well!    the  storm  clouds  then  might  frown 


MAURINE.  43 


For  if  the  others  all  wont  down 
still  rich  and  proud  and  glad   I'd  be, 
If  that  one  .ship  came  back  to  me. 


If  that,  one  ship  went  down  at  sea, 

And  all  the  others  came  to  me,    • 

Weighed  down  with  gems  and  wealth  untold, 

With  glory,  honors,  riches,  gold, 

The  poorest  .soul  on  earth  I'd  be 

If  that  one  ship  came  not  to  me. 


O  skies  be  calm  !     O  winds  blow  free ! 
Blow  all  my  ships  safe  home  to  me. 
I'ut  if  thou  sendest  some  a-wrack! 
To  never  more  come  sailing  back, 
Send  any — all,  that  skim  the  sea, 
.But  bring  my  love-ship  home  to  me. 


Helen  was  leaning  by  me,  and 'her  head 
Rested  against  my  shoulder  :   as  he  read, 
I   stroked  her  hair,  and  watched  the  fleecy  skies. 
And,  when  he  finished,  did  not  turn   my  eyes. 
I   felt  too  happy  and  too  shy  to  meet 
Ifis  gaze  just  then.     I   said'  " 'Tis  very  sweel. 
And  suits  the  day  ;    doesn't  it,  Helen,  dear?" 
But  Helen,  voiceless,  did  not  seem  to  hear. 
'"Tis  strange1,"  I  added,  "how  you  poets  sing- 
So  feelingly   about  the  very  thing 
You  care  not  for!   and  dress  up  an  ideal 
So  well,  it  looks  a  living,  breathing  real! 
Now,  to  a  listener,  your  love  song  seemed 
A  hearts  out-pouring  :   yet  I've  heard  you  say 
Almost  the  opposite;    or  that  you  deemed 


44  MAURINE. 

Position,  honor,  glory,  power,  fame, 

( Gained  without  loss  of  conscience  or  good  name, 

The  things  to  live  for." 

"Have  you?     Well,  you  may  "- 
Laughed  Vivian,  "  but  'twas  years — or  months  ago  ! 
And  Solomon  says  wise  men  change,  you  know  ! 
I  now  speak  truth  !   if  she  I  hold  most  dear, 
Slipped  from  my  life,  and  no  least  hope  were  left, 
My  heart  would,  find  the  years  more  lonely  here, 
Than  if  I   were  of  wealth,  fame,  friends  bereft, 
And  sent  an  exile  to  a  foreign  land." 


His  voice  was  low,  and  measured  :    as  he  spoke 

New,  unknown  chords  of  melody  awoke 

Within  my  soul.     I  felt  my  heart  expand 

AVith  that  sweet  fullness  born  of  love.     I  turned 

To  hide  the  blushes  on  my  cheek  that  burned, 

And  leaning  over  Helen,  breathed  her  name. 

She  lay  so  motionless  1  thought  she  slept : 

lint,  as  I  spoke,  I  saw  her  eyes  unclose, 

And  o'er  her  face  a  sudden  glory   swept, 

And  a  slight  tremor  thrilled  all  through  her  frame, 

"Sweet  friend,"  I  said,  "your  face  is  full  of  light  : 

What  were  the  dreams  that  made  vour  eves  so  bright  ?" 


She  only  smiled  for  answer,  and  arose 

From  her  reclining  posture  at  my  side, 

Threw  back  the  clustVina'  rinu'lets  from  her  face 


MAURINE.  45 

With  a  quick  gesture,  full  of  easy  grace, 
And,  turning,  spoke  to  Vivian.     "  Will  you  guide 
The  boat  up  near  that  little  clump  of  green 
Off  at  the  right?     There's  where  the  lilies  grow. 
We  quite  forgot  our  errand  here,  Maurine, 
And  our  few  moments  have  grown  into  hours. 
What  will  Aunt  Ruth  think  of  our  ling'ring  so? 
There — that  will  do — now  I  can  reach  the  flowers." 


"  Hark !    just   hear   that !"      and    Vivian    broke   forth 

singing 

"Row,  brother,  row."     "The  six  o'clock  bell 's  ringing  ! 
Who  ever  knew  three  hours  to  go  so  fast 
En  all  the  annals  of  the  world,  before  ! 
I  could  have  sworn,  not  over,  one  had  passed. 
Young  ladies,  I  am  forced  to  go  ashore  ! 
I  'm  loth  to  name  the  reason,  which  has  not 
As  much  of  romance  as  this  hour  and  spot. 
But  truth  is  truth  :    our  supper  tables  wait — 
Romance  must  yield  to  appetite  and  Fate. 
I  thank  you  for  the  pleasure  you  have  given  ; 
This  afternoon  has  been  a  glimpse  of  heaven. 
Good    night — sweet    dreams !    and    by    your    gracious 

leave, 
I'll  pay   my  compliments  to-morrow  eve." 


A  smile,  a  bow,  and  he  had  gone  his  way  : 
And,  in  the  waning  glory  of  the  day. 


4(>  MAURINE. 

Down  cool  green  lanes?,   and    through    the   length'ning 

shadows, 

Silent,  we  wandered  back  across  the  meadows. 
The  wreath  was  finished,  and  adorned  my  room  ; 
Long  afterward,  the  lilies'  copied  bloom. 
NVas  like  a  horrid  spectre  in  my  sight, 
Staring  upon   me.  morning,  noon  and  night. 


The  sun  went  down.     The  sad  new  moon  rose  up, 
And  passed  before  me,  like  an  empty  cup 
The  Great  Unseen  brims  full  of  pain  or  bliss, 
And  gives  His  children.,  saying  "drink  of  this. v 


A  light  wind,  from  the  open  casement,  fanned 
My  brow  and  Helen's,  as  we,  hand  in  hand, 
Sat  looking  out  upon  the  twilight  scene, 
In  dreamy  silence.     Helen's  dark  blue  eyes, 
Like  two  lost  stars  that  wandered  from  the  skies 
Some  night  adown  the  meteor's  shining  track. 
And  always  had  been  grieving  to  go  back, 
Now  gazed  up,  wistfully,  at  heaven'^  dome 
And  seemed  to  recognize,  and  long  for  home. 


Her  sweet  voice  broke  the  silence.     "Wish,  Maurine. 
Before  you  speak  !    you  know  the  moon  is  new. 
And  any  thing  you  wish  for  will  come  true 


MAURINE. 

Before  it  wanes.     I  do  believe  the  sign  ! 

Ni»w  tell  me  your  wish,  and  I'll  tell  you  mine." 


I   turned  and  looked  up  at  the  slim  young  moon  ; 

And,  with  an  almost  superstitious  heart, 

i   sighed,    "O,  new  moon!    help  me  by  thine  art 

To  grow  all  grace  and  goodness,  and  to  be 

\Vorthy  the  love  a  true  heart  proffers  me/' 

Then  smiling  down,  I  said  "  Dear  one  !  my  boon 

I   fear  is  quite  too  silly  or  too  sweet 

For  my  repeating  :    so  we'll  let  it  stay 

Between  the  moon  and  me.     But  if  I  may 

I'll  listen  now  to  your  wish.     Tell  me,  please  !" 


All  suddenly  she  nestled  at  my  feet, 
And  hid  her  blushing  face  upon  my  knees. 
Then  drew  my  hand  against  her  glowing  cheek,  * 
And,  leaning  on  my  breast  began  to  speak, 
Half  sighing  out  the  words  my  tortured  ear 
Reached  down  to  catch,  while  striving  not  to  hear. 


"Can  you  not  guess  who  'twas  about,  Maurine? 
Oh  my  sweet  friend  !   you  must  ere  this  have  seen 
The  love  I  tried  to  cover  from  all  eyes 
And  from  myself.     O,  foolish  little  heart  ! 
As  well  it  might  go  seeking  for  some  art 
\Vherebv  to  hide  the  sun  in  noon-dav  skies. 


48  MAUR;NE. 

When  first  the  strange  sound  of  his  voice  I  heard, 
Looked  on  his  noble  face,  and  touched  his  hand, 
My    slumb'ring   heart  thrilled   through   and   through. 

and  stirred 

As  if  to  say  '  I  hear,  and  understand.' 
And  day  by  day  mine  eyes  were  blest  beholding 
The  inner  beauty  of  his  life,  unfolding 
Jn  countless  words  and  actions,  that  portrayed 
The  noble  stuff  of  which  his  soul  was  made. 
And  more  and  more  I  felt  my  heart  upreaching 
After  the  truth,    drawn  gently  by  his  teaching, 
As  flowers  are  drawn  by  sunlight.     And  there  grew 
A  strange,  shy  something  in  its  depths,  I  knew 
At  length  was  love,  because  it  was  so  sad 
And  yet  so  sweet,  and  made  my  heart  so  glad, 
Yet  seemed  to  pain  me.     Then,  for  very  shame, 
Lest  all  should  read  my  secret  and  its  name, 
I  strove  to  hide  it  in  my  breast  away 
Where  (uxt  could  see  it  only.     But  each  day 
It  seemed  to  grow  within  me,  and  would  rise 
Like  my  own  soul,  and  look  forth  from  my  eyes. 
Defying  bonds  of  silence  ;   and  would  speak 
In  its  red-lettered  language  on  my  cheek 
If  but  his  name  was  uttered.     You  were  kind, 
My  own  Maurine  !  as  you  alone  could  be, 
So  long  the  sharer  of  my  heart  and  mind, 
Wliile  yet  you  saw,  in  seeming  not  to  see. 
In  all  the  years  we  have  been  friends,  my  own. 
And  loved  as  women,  very  rarely  do, 
My  heart  no -sorrow  and  no  joy  has  known 


MAURINE.  49 

It  has  not  shared  at  once,  in  full,  with  you. 

And  I  so  longed  to  speak  to  you  of  this, 

When  first  I  felt  its  mingled  pain  and  bliss  ; 

Yet  dared  not,   lest,  you,  knowing  him,  should  say, 

In  pity  for  my  folly — '  Lack  a-day  ! 

You  are  undone  :   because  no  mortal  art 

Can  win  the  love  of  such  a  lofty  heart.' 

And  so  I  waited,  silent  and  in  pain, 

Till  I  could  knoAv  I  did  not  love  in  vain. 

And  now  I  know,  beyond  a  doubt  or  fear. 

Did  he  not  say,  'If  she  I  hold  most  dear 

Slipped  from  my  life,  and  no  least  hope  was  left, 

My  heart  would  find  the  years  more  lonely  here, 

Than  if  I  were  of  wealth,  fame,  friends  bereft, 

And  sent  an  exile  to  a  foreign  land?' 

Oh,  darling!   you  must  lore  to  understand 

The  joy  that  thrilled  all  through  me  at  those  Avords. 

It  was  as  if  a  thousand  singing  birds 

Within,  my  heart  broke  forth  hi  notes  of  praise. 

I   did  not  look  up,  but  I  knew  his  gaze 

Was  on  my  face,  and  that  his  eyes  must  see 

The  joy  I  felt  almost  transfigured  me. 

He  loves  me — loves  me  !   so  the  birds  kept  singing. 

And  all  my  soul  with  that  sweet  strain  is  ringing. 

If  there  were  added  but  one  drop  of  bliss, 

No  more  my  cup  would  hold  :   and  so  this  eve 

F  made  a  wish  that  I  might  feel  his  kiss 

Uptfii  my  lips,  ere  yon  pale  moon  should  leave 

The  stars  all  lonely,  having  waned  away, 

Too  old  and  weak  and  bowed  with  care  to  stav.'' 


.50  MAURINE. 

Her  voice  sighed  into  silence.     While  she  spoke 
My  heart  writhed  in  me,  praying  she  would  cease. — 
Each  word  she  littered  falling  like  a  stroke 
On  my  hare  soul.     And  now  a  hush  like  death. 
Save  that  'twas  broken  by  a  quick  drawn  breath. 
Fell  'round  me,  but  brought  not  the  hoped-for  peace. 
For  when  the  lash  no  longer  leaves  its  blows, 
The  flesh  still  quivers,  and  the  blood  still  flows. 


She  nestled  on  my  bosom  like  a  child. 

And  'neath  her  head  my  tortured  heart  throbbed  wild 

\Vith  pain  and  pity.     She  had  told  her  tale — 

Her  self-deceiving  story  to  the  end. 

How  could  I  look  down  on  her  as  she  lay 

So  fair,  and  sweet,  and  lily-like,  and  frail— 

A  tender  blossom  on  my  breast,  and  say 

"  Nay,  yon  are  wrong — you  do   mistake,  dear  friend  ! 

Tis  1  am  loved,  not  you."      Yet  that  were  truth 

And  she  must  know  it  later.  . 

Should   1   speak, 

And  spread  a  ghastly  pallor  o'er  the  cheek 
Flushed    now    with    joy?      And    while    I,    doubting, 

pondered, 

She  spoke  again.     "  Mauri ne  !     I  oft  have  wondered 
\Vhy  you  and  Vivian  were  not  lovers.     He 
Is  all  a  heart  could  ask  its  king  to  be  ; 
And  you  have  beauty,  intellect  and  youth. 
I  think  it  strange  you   have  not  loved  each  other — 
Strange  how  he  could  pass  by  you  for  another 


MAURINE.  51 

Not  half  so  fair  or  worthy.     Yet   I   know 

A  loving  Father  pre-arranged  it  so. 

I  think  my  heart  has  known  him  all  these  years. 

And  waited  for  him.     And  if  when  he  came 

It  had  been  as  the  lover  of  my  friend, 

I  should  have  recognized  him,  all  the  same. 

As  my  soul-mate,   and  loved  him  to  the  end. 

Hiding  my  grief,  and  forcing  hack  my  tears 

Till  on  my  heart,  slow  dropping,  day  by  day, 

rnseen  they  fell,  and  wore  it  all  away. 

And  so  a  tender  Father  kept   him  free, 

With  all  the  largeness  of  his  love,  for  me — 

For  me,  unworthy  such  a  precious  gift ! 

Yet  I  will  bend  each  effort  of  my  life 

To  grow  in  grace  and  goodness,   and  to  lift 

My  soul  and  spirit  to  his  lofty  height, 

So  to  deserve  that  holy  name,  his  wife. 

Sweet  friend,  it  fills  my  whole  heart  with  delight 

To  breathe  its  long  hid  secret  in  your  ear. 

Speak,  my  Maurine,  and  say  you  love  to  hear  !" 


The  while  she  spoke,  my  active  brain  gave  rise 

To  one  great  thought  of  mighty  sacrifice 

And  self  denial.     Oh!  it  blanched  my  cheek, 

And  wrung  my  soul ;   and  from  my  heart  it  drove 

All  life  and  feeling.     Coward-like,  I  strove 

To  send  it  from  me  :    but  I  felt  it  cling 

And  hold  fast  on  my  mind  like  some  live  thing  ; 

And  all  the  Self  within  me  felt  its  touch 


52  MAURINE. 

And  cried,  "  No,  no  !    I  cannot  do  so  much — 
I  am  not  strong  enough — there  is  no  call."- 
And  then  the  voice  of  Helen  bade  me  speak, 
And  with  a  calmness  born  of  nerve,  I  said, 
Scarce  knowing  what  I  uttered,    "  Sweetheart,  all 
Your  joys  and  sorrows  are  with  mine  own  wed. 
I  thank  you  for  your  confidence,  and  pray 
I  may  deserve  it  always.     But,  dear  one, 
Something — perhaps  our  boat-ride  in  the  sun, 
Has  set  my  head  to  aching.     I  must  go 
To  bed  directly  ;   and  you  will,  I  know. 
Grant  me  your  pardon,  and  another  day 
We'll  talk  of  this  together.     Now  good  night, 
And  angels  guard  you  with  their  wings  of  light." 


[  kissed  her  lips,  and  held  her  on  my  heart, 
And  viewed  her  as  I  ne'r  had  done  before. 
I  gazed  upon  her  features  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
Marked  her  white  tender  face — her  fragile  form, 
Like  some  frail  plant  that  withers  in  the  storm  ; 
Saw  she  was  fairer  in  her  new  found  joy 
Than  e'er  before;   and  thought,  "Can  I  destroy 
(Jod's  handiAvork,  or  leave  it  at  the  best 
A  broken  harp,  while  I  close  clasp  my  bliss?" 
I  bent  my  head  and  gave  her  one  last  kiss, 
And  sought  my  room,  and  found  there  such  relief 
As  s;id  hearts  feel  when  first  alone  with  grief. 


MAURINE.  53 

• 

The  moon  went  down,  slow  sailing  from  my  sight, 
And  left  the  stars  to  watch  away  the  night. 
( )  stars,  sweet  stars,  so  changeless  and  serene  ! 
What  depths  of  woe,  your  pitying  eyes  have  seen  ! 
The  proud  sun  sets,  and  leaves  us  Avith  our  sorrow, 
To  grope  alone  in  darkness  till  the  morrow. 
The  languid  moon,  e'en  if  she  deigns  to  rise, 
Soon  seeks  her  couch,  grown  weary  of  our  sighs; 
]>ut  from  the  early  gloaming  till  the  day 
Sends  golden  liveried  heralds  forth  to  say 
I  [e  comes  in  might ;   the  patient  stars  shine  on, 
Steadfast  and  faithful,  from  twilight  to  dawn. 
And,  as  they  shone  upon  Gethsemane, 
And  watched  the  struggle  of  a  God-like  soul. 
Now  from  the  same  far  height  they  shone  on  me, 
And  saw  the  waves  of  anguish  o'er  me  roll. 


The  storm •  had  come  upon  me  all  unseen: 
No  sound  of  thunder  fell  upon  my  ear  ; 
\o  cloud  arose  to  tell  me  it  was  near  : 
But  under  skies  all  sunlit,  and   serene, 
I   floated  with  the  current  of  the  stream, 
And  thought  life  all  one  golden   haloed  dream. 
When  lo  !    a  hurricane,  with  awful    force, 
Swept  swift  upon  its  devastating  rourse, 
Wrecked  my  frail  hark,  and  cast  me  on  the  wave 
Where  all  my  hopes  had  found  a  sudden  grave. 
Love  makes  us  hlind  and   selfish  :    otherwise 
I  had  seen  Helen's  secret  in  her  eyes  ; 


r>4  MAURINE. 

So  used  I  was  to  reading  every  look 

hi  her  sweet  face,  as  I  would  read  a  book. 

But  now,  made  sightless  by  love's  blinding  rays, 

I   had  gone  on,  unseeing,  to  the  end. 

Where  Pain  dispelled  the  mist  of  golden  ha/e 

That  walled  me  in,  and  lo  !    I  found  my  friend 

Who  journeyed  with  me — at  my  very  side, 

Had  been  sore  wounded  to  the  heart,  while  I 

Both  deaf  and  blind,  saw  not,  nor  heard  her  cry. 

And  then  I  sobbed,    "  0  God  !   I  would  have  died 

To  save  her  this."     And  as  I  cried  in  pain, 

There    leaped    forth    from    the    still,     white    realm    of 

Thought 

Whore  Conscience  dwells,  that  unimpassioned  spot 
As  widely  different  from  the  heart's  domain, 
As  North  from  South — the  impulse  felt  before, 
And  put  away;   but  now  it  rose  once  more, 
In  greater    strength,    and  said    "Heart,    wouldst   them 

prove 

What  lips  have  uttered?     Then  go  lay  thy  love 
On  Friendship's  altar,  as  thy  offering." 
"Nay!"   cried  my  heart,  "ask  any  other  thing — 
Ask  life  itself — 'twere  easier  sacrifice. 
But  ask  not  love,  for  that  I  cannot  give." 


"But,"   spoke  the  voice,  "the  meanest  insect  dies, 
And  is  no  hero  !    heroes  dare  to  live 
Wlien  all  that  makes  life  sweet  is   snatched  away." 
So  with  my  heart,  in  converse,  till  the  day 


MAURINE.  of) 

In  gold  and  crimson  billows,  rose,  and  broke, 
The  voice  of  Conscience,  all  unwearied  spoke. 
Love  warred  with  Friendship  :  heart  Avith  Conscience 

fo't, 

Hours  rolled  away,  and  yet  the  end  was  not. 
And  wily  Self,  tricked  out  like  tenderness, 
Sighed,  "think  how  one,  whose  life  thou  Avert  to  bless 
Will  be  cast  down,  and  grope  in  doubt  and  fear ! 
Wouldst  thou  wound  him,  to  give  thy  friend  relief? 
Can  wrong  make  right?" 

"Nay!"    Conscience  said,    "but  Pride 
And  Time  can  heal  the  saddest  hurts  of  love. 
While  Friendship's  wounds,  gap   Avide   and  yet   more 

wide, 
And  bitter  fountains  of  the  spirit  prove." 


At  length,  exhausted  with  the  Avearing  strife. 

I   cast  the  IICAV  found  burden  of  my  life 

On  God's  broad  breast,  and  sought  that  deep  repose 

That  only  he  Avho's  AA^atched  Avith  sorrow  knoAvs. 


MAURINE. 


PART    FOURTH. 


4'  Maurine,  Maurinc  !    'tis  ten  o'clock  !   arise, 
My  pretty  sluggard  !    open  those  dark  eyes, 
And  see  where  yonder  sun  is  !     Do  you  know 
I  made  my  toilet  just  four  hours  ago?" 


'Twos  Helen's  voice  :   and  Helen's  gentle  kiss 
Fell  on  my  cheek.     As  from  a  deep  abyss, 
I  drew  my  weary  self  from  that  strange;  sleep 
That  rests  not,  nor  refreshes.     Scarce  awake 
Or  conscious,  yet  there  seemed  a  heavy  weight 
Bound  on  my  breast,  as  by  a  cruel  Fate. 
I  knew  not  why,  and  yet  1  longed  to  weep. 
Some  dark  cloud  seemed  to  hang  upon  the  day  ; 
And,  for  a  moment,  in  that  trance  I  lay, 
When  suddenly  the  truth  did  o'er  me  break, 
Like  some  great  wave  upon  a  helpless  child. 
The  dull  pain  in  my  breast  grew  like  a   knife — 
The  heavy  throbbing  of  my  heart  grew  wild, 
And  God  gave  back  the  burden  of  the  lite 
He  kept  what  time   I   slumbered. 


MAURINE.  57 

"  You  are  ill," 

Cried  Helen,    "  with  that  blinding  headache  still  ! 
You  look  so  pale  and  weary.     Now  let  me 
Play  nurse,  Maurine,  and  care  for  you  to-day  ! 
And  first  I'll  suit  some  dainty  to  your  taste, 
And  bring  it  to  you,  with  a  cup  of  tea." 
And  off  she  ran,  not  waiting  my  reply. 


But,  wanting  most  the  sunshine  and  the  light, 
I  left  my  couch,  and  clothed  myself  in  haste, 
And,  kneeling,  went  to  God  an  earnest  cry 
For  help  and  guidance. 

"  Show  Thou  me  the  way, 

Where  duty  leads  ;    for  I  am  blind  !   my  sight 
Obscured  by  self.     0,  lead  my  steps  aright ! 
Help  me  to  see  the  path  :   and  if  it  may, 
Let  this  cup  pass  : — and  yet  Thou  heavenly  One 
Thy  will  in  all  things,  not  mine  own,  be  done." 

Rising,  I  went  upon  my  way,  receiving 
The  strength  prayer  gives  alway  to  hearts  believing. 
T  felt  that  unseen  hands  were  leading  me, 
And  knew  the  end  was  peace. 

"What!   are  you  up?" 

Cried  Helen,  coming  with  a  tray,  and  cup, 
Of  tender  toast,  and  fragrant  smoking  tea. 
"You  naughty  girl!    you  should  have  stayed  in  l»e<l 
Until  you  ate  your  breakfast,  and  were  better? 
I've  something  hidden  for  you  here — a  letter. 
But  drink  your  tea  before  yoil   read  it,  dear! 


58  MAURINE. 

'Tis  from  some  distant  cousin,  Auntie  said 
And  so  you  need  not  hurry.     Now  be  good, 
And  mind  your  Helen." 

So,  in  passive  mood, 
I  laid  the  still  unopened  letter  near, 
And  nibbled  at  my  breakfast  more  to  please 
My  nurse,  than  any  hunger  to  appease. 
Then  listlessly  I  broke  the  seal  and  read 
The  few  lines  written  in  a  bold  free  hand  : 
"  New  London,  Canada.     Dear  Coz.  Maurine  ! 
(In  spite  of  generations  stretched  between 
Our  natural  right  to  that  most  handy  claim — 
Of  cousinship,  we'll  use  it  all  the  same) 
I'm  coming  to  see  you  !   honestly,  in  truth  ! 
I've  threatened  often — now  I  mean  to  act. 
You'll  find  my  coming  is  a  stubborn  fact. 
Keep  quiet  though,  and  do  not  tell  Aunt  Ruth. 
I  wonder  if  she'll  know  her  petted  boy 
In  spite  of  changes.     Look  for  me  until 
You  see  me  coming.     As  of  old  I'm  still 
Your  faithful  friend,  and  loving  cousin,  Roy." 


So  Roy  was  coming  !     He  and  I  had  played 
As  boy  and  girl,  and  later,  youth  and  maid, 
Full  half  our  lives  together.     He  had  been, 
Like  me,  an  orphan  ;   and  the  roof  of  kin 
Gave  both  kind  shelter.     Swift  years  sped  away 
Ere  change  was  felt :   and  then  one  summer  day 


MAURINE.  59 

A  long  lost  uncle  sailed  from  India's  shore — 
Made  Roy  his  heir,  and  he  was  ours  no  more. 


"  He'd  write  us  daily,  and  we'd  see  his  face 

Once  every  year."     Such  was  his  promise  given 

The  morn  he  left.     But  now  the  years  were  seven 

Since  last  he  looked  upon  the  olden  place. 

He'd  been  through  college,  traveled  in  all  lands, 

•Sailed  over  seas,  and  trod  the  desert  sands. 

'Would  write  and  plan  a  visit,   then,  ere  long, 

Would  write  again  from  Egypt  or  Hong  Kong — 

Some  mission  called  him  thither  unforeseen. 

So  years  had  passed,  till  seven  lay  between 

His  going,  and  the  coming  of  this  note, 

Which  I  hid  in  my  bosom,  and  replied 

To  Aunt  Ruth's  queries,    "What  the  truant  wrote?" 

By  saying  he  was  still  upon  the  wing, 

And  merely  dropped  a  line,  while  journeying, 

To  say  he  lived  :   and  she  was  satisfied. 


Sometimes  it  happens,  in  this  world  so  strange, 
A  human  heart  will  pass  through  mortal  strife, 
And  writhe  in  torture  :   Avhile  the  old  sweet  life, 
S<>  full  of  hope,  and  beauty,  bloom,  and  grace, 
Is  slowly  strangled  by  remorseless  Pain  : 
And  one  stern,  cold,  relentless,  takes  its  place — 
A  ghastly,  pallid  spectre  of  the  slain. 
Vet  those  in  daily  converse  see  no  change 


60  MAURINE. 

Nor  dream  the  heart  has  suffered. 

So  that  day 

I  passed  along  toward  the  troubled  Avay 
Stern  duty  pointed,  and  no  mortal  guessed 
A  mighty  conflict  had  disturbed  my  breast. 


E  had  resolved  to  yield  up  to  my  friend 

The  man  I  loved.     Since  she,  too,  loved  him  so 

[  saw  no  other  Avay  in  honor  left. 

She  was  so  weak  and  fragile,   once  bereft 

Of  this  great  hope,  that  held  her  with  such  power, 

She  would  wilt  down,  like  some  frost-bitten  flower, 

And  SAvift  untimely  death  would  be  the  end. 

But  I  was  strong  :    and  hardy  plants,  that  grow 

In  out-door  soil,  can  bear  bleak  winds  that  blow 

From  Arctic  lands,  whereof  a  single  breath 

Would  lay  the  hot-house  blossom  low  in  death. 


The  hours  went  by,  too  slow,  and  yet  too  fast. 
All  day  I  argued  with  my  foolish  heart 
That  bade  me  play  the  shrinking  coward's  part 
And  hide  from  pain.     And  when  the  day  had  past 
And  time  for  Vivian's  call  drew  near  and  nearer, 
It  pleaded,    "Wait,  until  the  way  seems  clearer: 
Say  you  are  ill — or  busy  :   keep  away 
Until  you  gather  greater  strength  to  play 
The  part  you  have  resolved  on." 


MAURINE.  61 

"Nay,  not  so," 

Made  answer  clear-eyed  Reason,    "  Do  you  go 
And  put  your  resolution  to  the  test. 
Resolve,  however  nobly  formed,  at  best 
Is  but  a  still-born  babe  of  Thought,  until 
It  proves  existence  of  its  life  and  will 
By  sound  or  action." 

So  when  Helen  came 

And  knelt  by  me,  her  fair  face  all  aflame 
\Vitb  sudden  blushes,  whispering,    "  My  sweet ! 
My  heart  can  hear  the  music  of  his  feet — 
(TO  down  with  me  to  meet  him."     I  arose, 
And  went  with  her  all  calmly,  as  one  goes 
To  look  upon  the  dear  face  of  the  dead. 


That  eve,  I  know  not  what  I  did,  or  said. 

I  was  not  cold — my  manner  was>  not  strange  : 

Perchance  I  talked  more  freely  than  my  wont, 

But  in  my  speech  was  naught  could  give  affront ; 

Yet  I  conveyed,  as  only  woman  can, 

That  nameless  something,  which  bespeaks  a  change. 


•Tis  in  the  power  of  woman,  if  she  be 
Whole-souled  and  noble,  free  from  coquetry — 
Her  motives  all  unselfish,  worthy,  good, 
To  make  herself  and  feelings  understood 
J>v  nameless  acts — thus  sparing  what  to  man, 


(>2  MAURINE. 

However  gently  answered,  causes  pain, 
The  off' ring  of  his  hand  and  heart  in  vain. 


She  can  be  friendly,  unrestrained,  and  kind, 

Assume  no  airs  of  pride  or  arrogance ; 

But  in  her  voice,  her  manner,  and  her  glance, 

Convey  that  mystic  something,  undefined, 

Which  men  fail  not  to  understand  and  read, 

And,  when  not  blind  with  egotism,  heed. 

My  task  was  harder.     'Twas  the   slow  undoing 

Of  long  sweet  months  of  unimpeded  wooing. 

It  was  to  hide  and  cover  and  conceal 

The  truth — assuming,  what  I  did  not  feel. 

It  was  to  dam  love's  happy  singing  tide 

That  blessed  me  with  its  hopeful,  tuneful  tone, 

By  feigned  indiff'rence,  till  it  turned  aside, 

And  changed  its  channel,   leaving  me  alone 

To   walk   parched    plains,    and   thirst    for   that    sweet 

draught 
My  lips  had  tasted,  but  another  quaffed. 


It  could  be  done.      For  no  words  yet  were  spoken, — 

None  to  recall — no  pledges  to  be  broken. 

"He  will  be  grieved,  then  angry,   cold,  then  cross," 

I  reasoned,  thinking  what  would  be  his  part 

In  this  strange  drama.     "Then  because   his  heart 

Feels  something  lacking,  to  make  good  his  loss, 

He'll  turn  to  Helen  :   and  her  gentle  grace 


MAURINE.  63 

And  loving  acts  will  win  her  soon  the  place 

[  hold  to-day  :   and  like  a  troubled  dream 

At  length,  our  past,  when  he   looks  back,  will  seem." 


That  evening  passed  with  music,  chat,  and  song  : 
But  hours  that  once  had  flown  on  airy  wings 
Now  limped  on  weary,  aching  limbs  along, 
Each  moment  like  some  dreaded  step  that  brings 
A  twinge  of  pain. 

As  Vivian  rose  to  go, 

Slow  bending  to  me,  from  his  greater  height, 
He  took  my  hand,  and,  looking  in  my  eyes, 
With  tender  questioning  and  pained  surprise, 
Said   "Maurine,  you  are  not  yourself  to-night  ! 
What  is  it?     Are  you  ailing?"  . 

•  "Ailing?   no," 

I  answered  laughing  lightly,    "  I  am  not  : 
Just  see  my  cheek,  sir !   is  it  thin,  or  pale  ? 
Now  tell  me,  am  I  looking  very  frail?" 

"  Nay,  nay  ! "   he  answered,    "  it  can  not  be  seen, 
The  change  I  speak  of — 'twas  more  in  your  mien  : 
Preoccupation,  or — I  know  not  what ! 
Miss  Helen,  am  I  wrong,  or  does  Maurine 
Seem  to  have  something  on  her  mind  this  eve?" 


"She  does!"    laughed  Helen,    "and  I  do  believe 
[  know  Avhat  'tis  !     A  letter  came  to-day 
Which  she  read  slyly,  and  then  hid  away 


(H  MAURINE. 

Close  to  her  heart,  not  knowing  I  was  .near  : 
And  since  she's  been  as  you  have  seen  her  here. 
See  how  she  blushes  !   so  my  random  shot 
We  must  believe  has  struck  a  tender  spot." 


Her  rippling  laughter  floated  through  the  room, 

And  redder  yet  I  felt  the  hot  blood  rise, 

Then  surge  away,  leaving  me  pale  as  death, 

Under  the  dark  and  swiftly  gath'ring  gloom 

Of  Vivian's  questioning,  accusing  eyes, 

That  searched  my  soul.     I  almost  shrieked  beneath 

That  stern,  fixed  gaze  ;   and  stood  spell-bound  until 

He  turned  with  sudden  movement,  gave  his  hand 

To  each  in  turn, 'saving  "You  must  not  stand 

Longer,  young  ladies,  in   this  open  door. 

The  air  is  heavy  with  a  cold  damp  chill. 

We  shall  have  rain  to-morrow,  or  before. 

Good  night." 

He  vanished  in  the  darkling  shade  ; 
And  so  the  dreaded  evening  found  an  end, 
That  saw  me  grasp  the  conscience-whetted  blade, 
And  strike  a  blow  for  honor  and  for  friend. 


"How  swiftly  passed  the  evening!"    Helen  sighed. 
"How  long  the  hours!"   my  tortured  heart  replied. 


MAURINE.  65 

Joy,  like  a  child,  with  lightsome  steps  doth  glide 
By  Father  Time,   and,  looking  in  his  face, 
Cries,  snatching  blossoms  from  the  fair  road  side 
"I  could  pluck  more,  but  for  thy  hurried  pace." 
The  while  her  elder  brother  Pain,  man  grown, 
Whose  feet  are  hurt  by  many  a  thorn  and  stone, 
Looks  to  some  distant  hill  top,  high  and  calm, 
Where  lie  shall  find  not  only  rest,  but  balm 
For  all  his  Avounds,  and  cries  in  tones  of  woe, 
"<)  Father  Time!    why  is  thy  pace  so  slow?" 


Two  days,  all  sad  with  lonely  wind  and  rain, 

Went  sobbing  by,  repeating  o'er  and  o'er 

The  miserere,  desolate  and  drear,      9 

Which  every  human  heart  must  sometime  hear. 

Pain  is  but  little  varied.    .Its  refrain, 

What'er  the  words  are,  is  for  aye  the  same. 

The  third  day  brought  a  change  :    for  with  it  came 

Not  only  sunny  smiles  to  Nature's  face, 

But  Roy — our  Roy  came  back  to  us.     Once  more 

We  looked  into  his  laughing,  handsome  eyes, 

Which,  while  they  gave  Aunt  Ruth  a  glad  surprise 

In  no  way  puzzled  her  :   for  one  glance  told 

What  each  succeeding  one  confirmed,  that  he 

AVlio  bent  above  her  with  the  lissome  grace 

( )f  his  fine  form,  though  grown  so  tall,  could  be 

No  other  than  the  Roy  Montaine  of  old. 


66  MAURINE. 

It  was  a  sweet  reunion  :   and  he  brought 

So  much  of  sunshine  with  him,  that  I  caught, 

Just  from  his  smile  alone,  enough  of  gladness 

To  make  my  heart  forget  a  time  its  sadness. 

We  talked  together  of  the  dear  old  days  : 

Leaving  the  present,  with  its  depths  and  heights 

Of  life's  maturer  sorrows  and  delights, 

I  turned  back  to  my  childhood's  level  land, 

And  Roy  and  I,  dear  playmates,  hand  in  hand, 

Wandered  in  mem'ry,  through  the  olden  ways. 


It  was  the  second  evening  of  his  coming. 

Helen  was  playing  dreamily,  and  humming 

Some  wordless  melody  of  white-souled  thought, 

While  Roy  and  I  sat  by  the  open  door, 

Re-living  childish  incidents  of  yore. 

My  eyes  were  glowing,  and  my  cheeks  were  hot 

With  warm  young  blood,  excitement,  joy,  or  pain 

Alike  Avould  send  swift  coursing  through  each  vein. 

Roy,  always  eloquent,  was  waxing  fine, 

And  bringing  vividly  before  my  gaze 

Some  old  adventure  of  those  halcyon  days, 

When,  suddenly,  in  pauses  of  the  talk, 

I  heard  a  well-known  step  upon  the  walk, 

And  looked  up  quickly  to  meet  full  in  mine 

The  eyes  of  Vivian  Dangerfield.     A  flash 

Shot  from  their  depths  :  —  a  sudden  blaze  of  light 

Like  that  swift  followed  by  the  thunder's  crash, 

Which  said,  "Suspicion  is  confirmed  by  sight," 


MAURINE.  67 

As  they  fell  on  the  pleasant  doorway  scene. 
Then  o'er  his  clear  cut  face,  a  cold  Avhite  look 
Crept,  like  the  pallid  moonlight  o'er  a  brook, 
And,  with  a  slight,  proud  bending  of  the  head, 
He  stepped  toward  us  haughtily  and  said, 
"  Please  pardon  my  intrusion,  Miss  Maurine  : 
I  called  to  ask  Miss  Trevor  for  a  book 
She  spoke  of  lending  me  :    nay,  sit  you  still ! 
And  I,  by  grant  of  your  permission,  will 
Pass  by  to  where  I  hear  her  playing." 

"  Stay  !" 

I  said,  "  one  moment,  Vivian,  if  you  please  ;" 
And  suddenly  bereft   of  all  my  ease, 
And  scarcely  knowing  what  to  do,  or  say, 
Confused  as  any  school  girl,  I  arose, 
And  some  way  made  each  to  the  other  known. 
They  bowed,  shook  hands  :  then  Vivian  turned  away, 
And  sought  out  Helen,  leaving  us  alone. 
(Men  always  shake  hands — strangers,  friends  or  foes, 
While  women  only  courtesy  and  bow, 
Needing  that  space  between  them  to  allow 
A  fair  inspection  of  each  other's  clothes.) 


"  One  of  Miss  Trevor's,  or  of  Maurine's  beaux  ? 
Which  may  he  be,  who  cometh  like  a  Prince 
With -haughty  bearing,  and  an  eagle  eye?" 
Roy  queried,  laughing  :    and  I  answered,  "  Since 
You  saw  him  pass  me  for  Miss  Trevor's  side, 
I  leave  your  own  good  judgment  to  reply." 


(58  MAURINE. 

And  straightway  caused  the  tide  of  talk  to  glide 

In  other  channels,  striving  to  dispel 

The  sudden  gloom  that  o'er  my  spirit  fell. 


AVe  mortals  are  such  hypocrites  at  best  ! 
When  Conscience  tries  our  courage  with  a  test, 
And  points  to  some  steep  pathway,  we  set  out 
Boldly,  denying  any  fear  or  doubt  ; 
But  pause  before  the  first  rock  in  the  way, 
And,  looking  back,  with  tears,  at  Conscience,  say 
"We  are  so  sad  dear  Conscience!   for  we  would 
Most  gladly  do  what  to  thee  seemeth  good  ; 
But  lo  !    this  rock  !   we  can  not  climb  it,  so 
Thou  must  point  out  some  other  way  to  gO." 
Yet  secretly  we  are  rejoicing  :    and, 
AVhen  right  before  our  faces,  as  we  stand 
In  seeming  grief,  the  rock  is  cleft  in  twain, 
Leaving  the  pathway  clear,  we  shrink  in  pain  ! 
And  loth  to  go,  by  every  act,  reveal 
What  we  so  tried  from  Conscience  to  conceal. 


I  saw  that  hour,  the  way  made  plain,  to  do 
AVith  scarce  an  effort,  what  had  seemed  a  strife 
That  would  require  the  strength  of  my  whole  life. 
Women  have  quick  perceptions  :   and  I  knew 
That  Arivian's  heart  was  full  of  jealous  pain, 
•Suspecting — nay  believing  Roy  Montaine 


MAURINE.  . 

To  be  my  lover.     First  my  altered  mien — 
And  next  the  letter — then  the  door-way  scene — 
My  flushed  face  gazing  in  the  one  above 
That  bent  so  near  me,  and  my  strange  confusion 
When  Vivian  came,  all  led  to  one  conclusion: 
That  I  had  but  been  playing  with  his  love, 
As  women  sometimes  cruelly  do  play 
With  hearts  what  time  their  lovers  are  away. 


There  could  be  nothing  easier,  than  just 

To  let  him  linger  on  in  this  belief 

Till  hourly-fed  Suspicion  and  Distrust 

Should  turn  to  scorn  and  anger  all  his  grief. 

Compared  with  me,  so  doubly  sweet  and  pmv 

Would  Helen  seem,  my  purpose  would  be  sure. 

And  certain  of  completion  in  the  end. 

But  now,  the  way  was  made  so  straight  and  clear,  ' 

My  coward  heart  shrank  back  in  guilty  fear, 

Till  Conscience  whispered  with  her  "  still  small  voice," 

"  The  precious  time  is  passing — make  thy  choice — 

Resign  thy  love,  or  slay  thy  trusting  friend." 


The  growing  moon,  watched  by  the  myriad  eyes 
Of  countless  stars,  went  sailing  through  the  skies. 
Like  some  young  Prince,  rising  to  rule  a  nation, 
To  whom  all  eyes  are  turned  in  expectation. 


70  MAURINE. 

A  woman  who  possesses  tact  and  art 

And  strength  of  will  can  take  the  hand  of  doom, 

And  walk  on,  smiling  sweetly  as  she  goes, 

With  rosy  lips,  and  rounded  cheek  of  bloom, 

Cheating  a  loud-tongued  world  that  never  knows 

The  pain  and  sorrow  of  her  hidden  heart. 

And  so  I  joined  in  Roy's  bright  changing  chat ; 

Answered  his  sallies — talked  of  this  and  that, 

My  brow  unruffled  as  the  calm  still  wave 

That  tells  not  of  the  wrecked  ship,  and  the  grave 

Beneath  its  surface. 

Then  we  heard,  ere  long, 
The  sound  of  Helen's  gentle  voice  in  song, 
And,  rising,  entered  where  the  subtle  power 
Of  Vivian's  eyes,  forgiving  while  accusing, 
Finding  me  weak,  had  won  me,  in  that  hour  ; 
But  Roy,  alway  polite  and  debonair 
Where  ladies  were,  now  hung  about  my  chair 
With  nameless  delicate  attentions,  using 
That  air  devotional,  and  those  small  arts 
Acquaintance  with  society  imparts 
To  men  gallant  by  nature. 

'Twas  my  sex 

And  not  myself  he  bowed  to.     Had  my  place 
Been  filled  that  evening  by  a  dowager, 
Twice  his  own  age,  he  would  have  given  her 
The  same  attentions.     But  they  served  to  vex 
Whatever  hope  in  Vivian's  heart  remained. 
The  cold,  white  look  settled  upon  his  face, 
Telling  how  deeply  he  was  hurt  and  pained. 


MAURINE.  71 

Little  by  little,  all  things  had  conspired 
To  bring  events  I  dreaded,  yet  desired. 
We  were  in  constant  intercourse  :   walks,  rides, 
Picnics  and  sails,  filled  weeks  of  golden  weather, 
And  almost  hourly  we  were  thrown  together. 
No  words  were  spoken  of  rebuke  or  scorn  : 
Good  friends  we  seemed.     But  as  a  gulf  divides 
This  land  and  that — though  lying  side  by  side, 
So  rolled  a  gulf  between  us — deep  and  wide — 
The  gulf  of  doubt,   which  widened  slowly  morn 
And  noon  and  night. 

Free  and  informal  were 

These  picnics  and  excursions.     Yet,  although 
Helen  and  I  would  sometimes  choose  to  go 
Without  our  escorts,  leaving  them  quite  free, 
It  happened  alway,  Roy  would  seek  out  me 
Ere  passed  the  day,  while  Vivian  walked  with  her. 
I  had  no  thought  of  flirting.     Roy  was  just 
Like  some  dear  brother,   and  I  quite  forgot 
The  kinship  was  so  distant  it  was  not 
Safe  to  rely  upon  in  perfect  trust, 
Without  reserve  or  caution.     Many  a  time 
When  there  was  some  steep  mountain  side  to  climb, 
And  I  grew  weary,  he  would  say,  "  Maurine, 
Come  rest  you  here."     And  I  would  go  and  lean 
My  head  upon  his  shoulder,   or  Avould  stand 
And  let  him  hold  in  his  my  willing  hand, 
The  while  he  stroked  it  gently  with  his  own. 
Or  I  would  let  him  clasp  me  with  his  arm, 
Xor  entertained  a  thought  of  any  harm  ! 


72  MAURINE. 

Nor  once  supposed  but  Vivian  was  alone 
In  his  suspicions.     But  ere  long  the  truth 
I  learned  in  consternation  !   both  Aunt  Ruth 
And  Helen,  honestly,  in  faith  believed 
That  Roy  and  I  were  lovers. 

Undeceived, 

Some  careless  words  might  open  Vivian's  eyes 
And  spoil  my  plans.     So,  reasoning  in  this  wise, 
To  all  their  sallies  I  in  jest  replied, 
To  naught  assented,  and  yet  naught  denied, 
With  Roy  unchanged  remaining,  confident 
Each  understood  just  what  the  other  meant, 


If  I  grew  weary  of  this  double  part, 

And  self-imposed  deception  caused  my  heart 

Sometimes  to  shrink,  I  needed  but  to  gaze 

On  Helen's  face  :   that  wore  a  look  ethereal, 

As  if  she  dwelt  above  the  things  material 

And  held  communion  with  the  angels.     So 

[  fed  my  strength  and  courage  through  the  days. 


What  time  the  harvest  moon  rose  full  and  clear 

And  cast  its  ling'ring  radiance  on  the  earth, 

We  made  a  feast ;   and  'called,  from  far  and  near, 

Our  friends,  who  came  to  share  the  scene  of  mirth. 

Pair  forms  and  faces  flitted  to  and  fro  ; 

But  none  more  sweet  than  Helen's.     Uohed   in   whi 

She  floated  like  a  vision  through  tin-  dance. 


MAURINE.  73 

So  frailly  fragile  and  so  phantom  fair, 
She  seemed  like  some  stray  spirit  of  the  air, 
And  was  pursued  by  many  an  anxious  glance 
That  looked  to  see  her  fading  from  the  sight 
Like  figures  that  a  dreamer  sees  at  night. 


And  noble  men  and  gallants  graced  the  scene  : 
Yet  none  more  noble  or  more  grand  of  mien 
Than  Vivian — broad  of  chest  and  shoulder,  tall 
And  finely  formed,  as  any  Grecian  god 
Whose  high-arched  foot  on  Mount  Olympus  trod. 
His  clear  cut  face  was  beardless  ;   and,  like  those 
Same  Grecian  statues,  when  in  calm  repose, 
Was  it  in  hue  and  feature.     Framed  in  hair 
Dark  and  abundant ;   lighted  -by  large  eyes 
That  could  be  cold  as  steel  in  winter  air, 
Or  warm  and  sunnv  as  Italian  skies. 


Weary  of  mirth  and  music,  and  the  sound 
Of  tripping  feet,  I  sought  a  moment's  rest 
Within  the  lib'ry,   where  a  group  I  found 
Of  guests,  discussing  with  apparent  zest 
Some  theme  of  interest — Vivian,  near  the  while, 
Leaning  and  listening  with  his  slow  odd  smile. 


"Now  Miss  La  Pelle,  we  will  appeal  to  you;" 
Cried  young  Guy  Semple,  as  I  entered.     "We 

F  • 


74  MAURINE. 

Have  been  discussing  right  before  his  face, 

All  unrebuked  by  him  as  you  may  see, 

A  poem  lately  published  by  our  friend  : 

And  we  are  quite  divided.     I  contend 

The  poem  is  a  libel  and  untrue. 

I  hold  the  fickle  women  are  but  few, 

Compared  with  those  who  are  like  yon  fair  moon 

That,  ever  faithful,  rises  in  her  place 

Whether  she's  greeted  by  the  flowers  of  June, 

Or  cold  and  dreary  stretches  of  white  space." 


"  0  !"   cried  another,    "  Mr.  Dangerfield 
Look  to  your  laurels  !   or  you  needs  must  yield 
The  crown  to  Sernple,  who,  'tis  very  plain, 
Has  mounted  Pegasus  and  grasped  his  mane." 


All  laughed  :   and  then,  as  Guy  appealed  to  me, 

I  answered  lightly,    "  My  young  friend,  I  fear 

You  chose  a  most  unlucky  simile 

To  prove  the  truth  of  woman.     To  her  place 

The  moon  does  rise — but.  with  a  diffei'ent  face 

Each  time  she  comes.     But  now  I  needs  must  hear 

The  poem  read,  before  I  can  consent 

To  pass  my  judgment  on  the  sentiment." 


All  clamored  that  the  author  was  the  man 
To  read  the  poem:   and,  with  tones  that  said 


MAURINE.  75 

More  than  the  cutting,  scornful  words  he  read, 
Taking  the  book  Guy  gave  him, 'he  began  : 

HER  LOVE. 


The  sands  upon  the  ocean  side 
That  change  about  with  every  tide, 
And  never  true  to  one  abide, 
A  woman's  love  I  liken  to. 


The  summer  zephyrs,  light  and  vain, 
That  sing  the  same  alluring  strain 
To  every  grass  blade  on  the  plain— 
A  woman's  love  is  nothing  more. 


The  sunshine  of  an  April  day 
That  comes  to  warm  you  with  its  ray, 
But  while  you  smile  has  flown  away — 
A  woman's  love  is  like  to  this. 


God  made  poor  woman  with  no  heart, 

But  gave  her  skill,  and  tact,  and  art, 

And  so  she  lives,  and  plays  her  part. 

We  must  not  blame,  but  pity  her. 


Slie  leans  to  man — but  just  to  hear 
The  praise  he  whispers  in  her  ear. 
Herself,  not  him,  she  holdeth  dear — 
O  fool !   to  be  deceived  by  her. 


To  sale  her  sellish  thirst  she  quaffs 

The  love,  of  strong  hearts  in  sweet  draughts 


76  MAURINE. 


Thou  throws  them  lightly  by  and  laughs, 
Too  weak  to  understand  their  pain. 


As  changeful  as  the  winds  that  blow 
From  every  region,  to  and  fro, 
Devoid  of  heart,  she  can  not  know 
The  suffering  of  a  human  heart. 


I  knew  the  cold,  fixed  gaze  of  Vivian's  eyes 

Saw  the  slow  color  to  my  forehead  rise  ; 

But  lightly  answered,  toying  -with  my  fan, 

"  That  sentiment  is  very  like  a  man  ! 

Men  call  us  fickle,  but  they  do  us  wrong  ; 

We're  only  frail  and  "helpless,  men  are  strong  ; 

And  when  love  dies,  they  take  the  poor  dead  thing 

And  make  a  shroud  out  of  .their  suffering, 

And  carry  the  corpse  about  with  them  for  years. 

But  we? — we  mourn  it  for  a  da^"  with  tears  ! 

And  then  we  robe  it  for  its  last  long  rest, 

But  being  women,  feeble  things  at  best, 

We  cannot  dig  the  grave  ourselves.     And  so 

We  call  strong  limbed  New  Love  to  lay  it  low  : 

Immortal  sexton  he  !  whom  Venus  sends 

To  do  this  service  for  her  earthly  friends. 

The  trusty  fellow  digs  the  grave  so  deep 

Nothing  disturbs  the  dead  laid  there  to  sleep." 


The  laugh  that  followed  had  not  died  away 
Ere  Roy  Montaine  came  seeking  me,  to  say 


MAURINE. 


i  i 


The  band  was  tuning  for  our  waltz,  and  so 

Back  to  the  ball  room  bore  me.     In  the  glow 

And  heat  and  whirl,  my  strength  ere  long  was  spent, 

And  I  grew  faint  and  dizzy,  and  we  went 

Into  the  cool  moonlighted  portico, 

And,  sitting  there,  Roy  drew  my  languid  head 

I'pnn  the  shelter  of  his  breast,  and  bent 

His  smiling  eyes  upon  me,  as  he  said, 

"  I'll  try  the  mesmerism  of  my  touch 

To  work  a  cure  :    be  very  quiet  now, 

And  let  me  make  some  passes  o'er  your  brow. 

Why,  how  it  throbs  !   you've  exercised  too  nmch  ! 

I  shall  not  let  you  dance  again  to-night." 


Just  then  before  us,  in  the  broad  moonlight, 
Two  forms  were  mirrored  :    and  I  turned  my  fact- 
To  catch  the  teasing  and  mischievous  glance1 
Of  Helen's  eyes,   as,,  heated  from  the  dance, 
Leaning  on  Vivian's  arm,  she  sought  this  place. 


"I  beg  your  pardon,"  came  in  that  round  tone 
Of  his  low  voice.     "I  think  we  do  intrude." 
Bowing,  they  turned,  and  left  us  quite  alone 
Ere  I  could  speak,  or  change  my  attitude. 


78  MAURINE. 


PART  FIFTH. 


A  visit  to  a  cave  some  miles  away 

Was  next  in  order.     So,  one  sunny  day, 

Four  prancing  steeds  conveyed  a  laughing  load 

Of  merry  pleasure-seekers  o'er  the  road. 

A  basket  picnic,  music  and  croquet 

Were  in  the  programme.     Skies  were  blue  and  clear, 

And  cool  winds  whispered  of  the  Autumn  near. 

The  merry-makers  filled  the  time  with  pleasure  ; 

Some  floated  to  the  music's  rhythmic  measure, 

Some  played,  some  promenaded  on  the  green. 


Ticked  off  by  happy  hearts,  the  moments  passed. 
The  afternoon,  all  glow  and  glimmer,  came. 
Helen  and  Roy  were  leaders  of  some  game, 
And  Vivian  was  not  visible. 

"  Maurine, 

I  challenge  you  to  climb  yon  cliff  with  me  ! 
And  who  shall  tire,  or  reach  the  summit  last 
Must  pay  a  forfeit,"   cried  a  romping  maid. 
"Come!   start  at  once,  or  own  vou  arc  afraid." 


MAURINE.  79 

So  challenged  I  made  ready  for  the  race, 

Deciding  first  the  forfeit  was  to  be 

A  handsome  pair  of  bootees  to  replace 

The  victor's  loss  who  made  the  rough  ascent. 

The  cliff  was  steep  and  stony.     On  we  went 

As  eagerly  as  if  the  path  was  Fame, 

And  what  AVC  climbed  for,  glory  and  a  name. 


My  hands  were  bruised  ;   my  garments  sadly  rent, 

But  on  I  clambered.     Soon  I  heard  a  cry, 

"  Maurine  !  Maurine  !   my  strength  is  wholly  spent ! 

You've  Avon  the  boots  !    I  'm  going  back — good-by  !" 

And  back  she  turned,  in  spite  of  laugh  and  jeer. 

1   reached  the  summit :.  and  its  solitude, 

Wherein  no  living  creature  did  intrude, 

Save  some  sad  birds  that  Avheeled  and  circled  near, 

I  found  far  SAveeter  than  the  scene  beloAV. 

Alone  Avith  One  Avho  kne\v  my  hidden  AVOC, 

I  did  not  feel  so  much  alone  as  when 

J  mixed  with  th'  unthinking  throngs  of  men. 


Some  flowers  that  decked  the  barren,  sterile  place 
I  plucked,  and  read  the  lesson  they  conveyed, 
That  in  our  lives,  albeit  dark  Avith  shade 
And  rough  and  hard  with  labor,  yet  may  grow 
The  floAvers  of  Patience,  Sympathy,  and  Grace. 


80  MAURINE. 

As  I  walked  on-  in  meditative  thought, 
A  serpent  writhed  across  my  pathway — not 
A  large  or  deadly  serpent ;   yet  the  sight 
Filled  me  with  ghastly  terror  and  affright. 
I  shrieked  aloud  :   a  darkness  veiled  my  eyes- 
And  I  fell  fainting  'neath  the  watchful  skies. 


I  was  no  coward.     Country -bred  and  born, 

I   had  no  feeling  but  the  keenest  scorn 

For  those  fine  lady    "  ah's  "   and   "  oh's  "   of  fear 

80  much  assumed,    (when  any  man  is  near.) 

But  God  implanted  in  each  human  heart 

A  natural  horror,  and  a  sickly  dread 

Of  that  accurs-ed,  slimy,  creeping  thing 

That  squirms  a  limbless  carcass  o'er  the  ground. 

And  where  that  inborn  loathing  is  not  found 

You  '11  find  the  serpent-qualities  instead. 

Who  fears  it  not,  himself  is  next  of  kin, 

And  in  his  bosom  holds  some  treacherous  art 

Whereby  to  counteract  its  venomed  sting. 

And  all  are  sired  by  Satan — Chief  of  Sin. 


Who  loathes  not  that  foul  creature  of  the  dust, 
However  fair  in  seeming,  I  distrust. 


I  woke  from  my  unconsciousness,  to  know 
1  leaned  upon  a  broad  and  manly  breast, 


MAURINE.  81 

And  Vivian's  voice  was  speaking  soft  and  low, 
Sweet  whispered  words  of  passion,  o'er  and  o'er. 
I  dared  not  breathe.     Had  I  found  Eden's  shore? 
Was  this  a  foretaste  of  eternal  bliss? 
"  My  love,"  he  sighed,  his  voice  like  winds  that  moan 
Before  a  rain  in  summer  time,  "  My  own, 
For  one  sweet  stolen  moment,  lie  and  rest 
Upon  this  heart  that  loves  and  hates  you  both  ! 
O  fair  false  face  !     Why  were  you  made  so  fair ! 

0  mouth  of  Southern  sweetness  !   that  ripe  kiss 
That  hangs  upon  you,  I  do  take  an  oath 

///••>'  lips  shall  never  gather.     There  ! — and  there  ! 

1  steal  it  from  him.     Are  you  his — all  his? 

Nay  you  are  mine,  this  moment,  as  I  dreamed — 
Blind  fool — believing  you  were  what  you  seemed — 
You  would  be  mine  in  all  the  years  to  come. 
Fair  fiend  !     I  love  and  hate  you  in  a  breath. 
0  God  !   if  this  white  pallor  were  but  death, 
And  I  were  stretched  beside  you,  cold  and  dumb, 
My  arms  about  you,  so — in  fond  embrace  ! 
My  lips  pressed,  so — upon  your  dying  face !" 


"  Woman,  how  dare  you  bring  me  to  such  shame  ! 
How  dare  you  drive  me  to  an  act  like  this, 
To  steal  from  your  unconscious  lips  the  kiss 
You  lured  me  on  to  think  my  rightful  claim  ! 
O  frail  and  puny  woman  !   could  you  know 
The  devil  that  you  waken  in  the  hearts 
You  snare  and  bind  in  your  enticing  arts, 


82  MAURINE. 

The  thin,  pale  stuff  that  in  your  veins  doth  flow 
Would  freeze  in  terror. 

Strange  you  have  such  pow'r 

To  please,  or  pain  us,  poor,  weak,  soulless  things — 
Devoid  of  passion  as  a  senseless  fknv'r  ! 
Like  butterflies,  your  only  boast,  your  wings. 
There,  now,  I  scorn  you — scorn  you  from  this  hour, 
And  hate  myself  for  having  talked  of  love  !" 


He  pushed  me  from  him.     And  I  felt  as  those 
Doomed  angels  must,  when  pearly  gates  above 
Are  closed  against  them. 

With  a  feigned  surprise 
I  started  up,  and  opened  wide  my  eyes, 
And  looked  about.     Then  in  confusion  rose 
And  stood  before  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  I  pray  !" 
He  said  quite  coldly.     "Half  an  hour  ago 
I  left  you  with  the  company  below, 
And  sought  this  cliff.     A  moment  since  you  cried, 
It  seemed,  in  sudden  terror  and  alarm. 
I  came  in  time  to  see  you  swoon  away. 
You  '11  need  assistance  down  the  rugged  side 
Of  this  steep  cliff.     I  pray  you  take  my  arm.'1 


So,  formal  and  constrained,  we  passed  along, 
Rejoined  our  friends,  and  mingled  with  the  throng, 
To  have  no  further  speech    again  that  day. 


MAURINE.  83 

Next  morn  there  came  a  bulky  document, 
The  legal  firm  of  Blank  &  Blank  had  sent, 
Containing  news  unlocked  for.     An  estate 
Which  proved  a  cosy  fortune — no-wise  great 
Or  princely, — had  in  France  been  left  to  me, 
My  grandsire's  last  descendant.     And  it  brought 
A  sense  of  joy  and  freedom  in  the  thought 
Of  foreign  travel,  which  I  felt  would  be 
A  panacea  for  my  troubled  mind, 
That  longed  to  leave  the  olden  scenes  behind 
With  all  their  recollections,   and  to  flee 
To  some  strange  country. 

I  was  in  such  haste 

To  put  between  me  and  my  native  land 
The  briny  ocean's  desolating  waste, 
I  gave  Aunt  Ruth  no  peace,  until  she  planned 
To  sail  that  week,  two  months  :   though  she  was   fain 
To  wait  until  the  Spring  time.     Roy  Montaine 
Would  be  our  guide  and  escort. 

No  one  dreamed 

The  cause  of  my  strange  hurry,  but  all  seemed 
To  think  good  fortune  had  quite  turned  my  brain. 
One  bright  October  morning,  when  the  woods 
Had  donned  their  purple  mantles  and  red  hoods 
In  honor  of  the  Frost  King,  Vivian  came, 
Bringing    some    green    leaves,    tipped    with    crimsora 

flame, — 
First  trophies  of  the  autumn  time. 

And  Roy 
Made  a  proposal  that  we  all  should  go 


84  MAURINE. 

And  ramble  in  the  forest  for  a  while. 

But  Helen  said  she  was  not  well — and  so 

Must  stay  at  home.     Then  Vivian  with  a  smile 

Responded,    "  I  will  stay  and  talk  to  you, 

And  they  may  go  ;"   at  which  her  two  cheeks  grew 

Like  twin  blush  roses  ; — dyed  with  love's  red  wave, 

Her  fair  face  shone  transfigured  with  great  joy. 


And  Vivian  saw— and  suddenly  was  grave. 


Roy  took  my  arm  in  that  protecting  way 
Peculiar  to  some  men,    which  seems  to  say 
"I  shield  my  own,"  ti  manner  pleasing,  e'en 
When  we  are  conscious  that  it  does  not  mean 
More  than  a  simple  courtesy.     A  woman 
Whose  heart  is  wholly  feminine  and  human, 
And  not  unsexed  by  hobbies,  likes  to  be 
The  object  of  that  tender  chivalry, — 
That  guardianship  which  man  bestows  on  her, 
Yet  mixed  with  deference  ;   as  if  she  were 
Half  child,  half  angel. 

Though  she  may  be  strong, 
Noble  and  self-reliant,   not  afraid 
To  raise  her  voice  and  hand  against  all  wrong 
And  all  oppression,  yet  if  she  be  made, 
With  all  the  independence  of  her  thought, 
A  woman  womanly,  as  God  designed, 
Albeit  she  may  have  as  great  a  mind 


MAURINE.  85 

As  man,  her  brother,  yet  his  strength  of  arm, 
His  muscle  and  his  boldness  she  has  not, 
And  cannot  have,  without  she  loses  what 
Is  far  more  precious,  modesty  and  grace. 
So,  walking  on,  in  her  appointed  place, 
She  does  not  strive  to  ape  him,  nor  pretend 
But  that  she  needs  him,  for  a  guide  and  friend, 
To  shield  her  with  his  greater  strength  from  harm. 


We  reached  the  forest ;   wandered  to  and  fro 

Through  many  a  winding  path  and  dim  retreat,' 

Till  I  grew  weary  :   when  I  chose  a  seat 

Upon  an  oak  tree,  which  had  been  laid  low 

By  some  wind  storm,  or  by  some  lightning  stroke. 

And  Roy  stood  just  below  me,   where  the  ledge 

On  which  I  sat  sloped  steeply  to  the  edge 

Of  sunny  meadows  tying .  at  my  feet. 

One  hand  held  mine  ;   the  other  grasped  a  limb 

That  cast  its  checkered  shadows  over  him  ; 

And,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  his  dark  eyes  raised 

And  fixed  upon  me,  silently  he  gazed 

Until  I,  smiling,  turned  to  him  and  spoke  : 

"Give  words,  my  cousin^  to  those  thoughts  that  rise, 

And,  like  dumb  spirits,  look  forth  from  your  eyes." 


The  smooth  and  even  darkness  of  his  cheek 
Was  stained  one  moment  by  a  flush  of  red. 
He  s waved  his  lithe  form  nearer  as  he  stood 


86  MAURINE. 

Still  clinging  to  the  branch  above  his  head. 

His  brilliant  eyes  grew  darker ;  and  he  said, 

With  sudden  passion,    "  Do  you  bid  me  speak  ? 

I  can  not,  then,  keep  silence  if  I  would. 

That  hateful  fortune,  coming  as  it  did, 

Forbade  my  speaking  sooner  ;   for  I  knew 

A  harsh-tongued  world  would  quickly  misconstrue 

My  motive  for  a  meaner  one.     But,  sweet, 

So  big  my  heart  has  grown  with  love  for  you 

I  can  not  shelter  it,  or  keep  it  hid. 

And  so  I  cast  it  throbbing  at  your  feet, 

For  you  to  guard  and  cherish,  or  to  break. 

Maurine,  I  love  you  better  than  my  life. 

My  friend — my  cousin — be  still  more,  my  wife  ! 

Maurine,  Maurine,  what  answer  do  you  make?" 


I  scarce  could  breathe  for  wonderment ;   and  numb 

With  truth  that  fell  too  suddenly,  sat  dumb 

With  sheer  amaze,   and  stared  at  Roy  with  eyes 

That  looked  no  feeling  but  complete  surprise. 

He  swayed  so  near  his  breath  was  on  my  cheek. 

"  Maurine,  Maurine,"  he  whispered,  "will  you  speak?" 


Then  suddenly,  as  o'er  some  magic  glass 
One  picture  in  a  score  of  shapes  will  pass, 
I   seemed  to  see  Roy  glide  before  my  gaze. 
First,  as  the  playmate  of  my  earlier  days — 
Next,  as  my  kin — and  then  my  valued  friend, 


MAURINE.  87 

And  last,  my  lover.     As  when  colors  blend 
In  some  unlocked  for  group  before  our  eyes, 
We  hold  the  glass,  and  look  them  o'er  and  o'er, 
So  now  I  gazed  on  Roy  in  his  new  guise, 
In  which  he  ne'er  appeared  to  me  before. 


His  form  was  like  a  panther's  in  its  grace, 
So  lithe  and  supple,  and  of  medium  height, 
And  garbed  in  all  the  elegance  of  fashion. 
His  large  black  eyes  were  full  of  fire  and  passion, 
And  in  expression  fearless,  firm,  and  bright. 
His  hair  was  like  the  very  deeps  of  night, 
And  hung  in  raven  clusters  'round  a  face 
Of  dark  and  flashing  beauty. 

He  was  more 

Like  some  romantic  maiden's  grand  ideal 
Than  like  a  common  being.     As  I  gazed 
Upon  the  handsome  face  to  mine  upraised, 
I  saw  before  me,  living,  breathing,  real 
The  hero  of  my  early  day-dreams  :   though 
So  full  my  heart  was  with  that  clear-cut  face, 
Which,  all  unlike,  yet  claimed  the  hero's  place, 
I  had  not  recognized  him  so  before, 
Or  thought  of  him,  save  as  a  valued  friend. 
So  now  I  called  him,  adding, 

"  Foolish  boy  ! 

Each  word  of  love  you  utter  aims  a  blow 
At  that  sweet  trust  I  had  reposed  in  you. 
I  was  so  certain  I  had  found  a  true, 


88  MAURINE. 

Steadfast  man  friend,  on  whom  I  could  depend, 
And  go  on  wholly  trusting,  to  the  end. 
Why  did  you  shatter  my  delusion,  Roy, 
By  turning  to  a  lover  ?" 

"  Why,  indeed  ! 

Because  I  loved  you  more  than  any  brother, 
Or  any  friend  could  love."     Then  he  hegan 
To  argue  like  a  lawyer,  and  to  plead 
With  all  his  eloquence.     And,  listening, 
I  strove  to  think  it  was  a  goodly  thing 
To  be  so  fondly  loved  by  such  a  man, 
And  it  were  best  to  give  his  wooing  heed, 
And  not  deny  him.     Then  before  my  eyes 
In  all  its  clear-cut  majesty,  that  other 
Haughty  and  poet-handsome  face  would  rise 
And  rob  my  purpose  of  all  life  and  strength. 

Jloy  urged  and  argued,  as  Roy  only  could, 

With  that  impetuous,  boyish  eloquence. 

He  held  my  hands,  and  vowed  I  must,  and  should 

Give  some  least  hope  ;  till,  in  my  own  defense, 

I  turned  upon  him,  and  replied,  at  length  : 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  noble  heart  you  offer  : 

But  it  deserves  a  true  one  in  exchange. 

I  could  love  you  if  I  loved  not  another 

Who  keeps  my  heart ;  so  I  have  none  to  proffer." 

Then,  seeing  how  his  dark  eyes  flashed,  I  said, 
"  Dear  Roy  !  1  know  my  words  seem  very  strange  ; 


MAURINE. 

I>ut   I   love  one  I  cannot  hope  to  Aved. 

A  river  rolls  between  us,  dark  and  deep. 

To  cross  it — were  to  stain  with  bluod  my  hand. 

You  force  my  speech  on  what  J  fain  would  keep 

In  my  own  bosom,  but  you  understand? 

My  heart  is  given  to  love  that's  sanctified, 

And  now  can  feel  110  other. 

Be  you  kind 

Dear  Hoy,  my  brother!   speak  of  this  no  more, 
Lest  pleading  and  denying  should  divide 
The  hearts  so  long  united.     Let  me  find 
In  you  my  cousin  and  my  friend  of  yore. 
And  now  come  home.     The  morning,  all  tou  soon 
And  unperceived,  has  melted  into  noon. 
Helen  will  miss  us,  and  we  must  return." 


He  took  my  hand,  and  helped  me  to  arise. 
Smiling  upon  me  with  his  sad  dark  eyes. 
Wherein  no  fire  of  passion  now  did  burn. 


"And  so,"  he  said,  "too  soon  and  unforeseen 
My  friendship  melted  into  love.   Manrine. 
But,  sweet!    I  am  not  wholly  in  the  blame. 
For  what  you  term  my  folly.     You  forgot, 
So  long  we'd  known  each  other,  I  had  not 
In  truth  a  brother  or  a  cousin's  claim. 
Hut  I  remembered,  when  through  every  nerve 
Your  lightest  touch  went  thrilling;   and  began 


90  MAURINE. 

To  love  you  with  that  human  love  of  man 

For  comely  woman.     By  your  coaxing  arts, 

You  won  your  way  into  my  heart  of  hearts, 

And  all  Platonic  feelings  put  to  rout. 

A  maid  should  never  lay  aside  reserve 

With  one  who's  not  her  kinsman,  out'  and  out. 

But  as  we  now,  with  measured  steps,  retrace 

The  path  we  came,  e'en  so  my  heart  I  '11  send, 

At  your  command,  back  to  the  olden  place, 

And  strive  to  love  you  only  as  a  friend." 

I  felt  the  justice  of  his  mild  reproof, 

But  answered  laughing,  "  'Tis  the  same  old  cry  : 

'The  woman  tempted  me,  and  I  did  e#t.' 

Since  Adam's  time  we've  heard  it.     But  I'll  try 

And  be  more  prudent,  sir,  and  hold  aloof 

The  fruit  I  never  once  had  thought  so  sweet 

'Twould  tempt  you  any.     Now  go  dress  for  dinner, 

Thou  sinned  against !  as  also  will  the  sinner. 

And  guard  each  act,  that  no  least  look  betray 

What's  passed  between  us." 

Then  I  turned  away 

And  sought  my  room,  trilling  some  lightsome  air 
That  ceased  upon  the  threshold  ;   for  mine  eyes 
Fell  on  a  face  so  glorified  and  fair 
All  other  senses,  merged  in  that  of  sight, 
Were  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  bright 
And  wond'rous  picture,  which  had  otherwise 
Made  dim  my  vision. 

Waiting  in  my  room, 
Her  whole  face  lit  as  bv  an  inward  flame 


MAURINE.  91 

That  shed  its  halo  'round  her,  Helen  stood  ; 
Her  fair  hands  folded  like  a  lily's  leaves 
Weighed  down  by  happy  dews  of  summer  eves. 
Upon  her  cheek  the  color  went  and  came 
As  sunlight  nickers  o'er  a  bed  of  bloom  ; 
And,  like  some  slim  young  sapling  of  the  wood, 
Her  slender  form  leaned  slightly  ;   and  her  hair 
Fell  'round  her  loosely,  in  long  curling  strands 
All  unconfined,   and  as  by  loving  hands  • 

Tossed  into  bright  confusion. 

Standing  there, 

Her  starry  eyes  uplifted,  she  did  seem 
Like  some  unearthly  creature  of  a  dream  ; 
Until  she  started  forward,  gliding  slowly, 
And  broke  the  breathless  silence,  speaking  lowly, 
As  one  grown  meek,  and  humble  in  an  hour, 
Bowing  before  some  new  and  mighty  power. 


"  Maurine,  Maurine !"  she  murmured,  and  again, 
"  Maurine,  my  own  sweet  friend,  Maurine  !'' 

And  then. 

Laying  her  love  light  hands  upon  my  head, 
She  leaned,  and  looked  into  my  eyes,  and  said 
With  voice  that,  bore  her  joy  in  ev*ry  tone, 
As  winds  that  blow  across  a  garden  bed 
Are  weighed  with  fragrance,  "He  is  mine  alone, 
And  I  am  his — all  his — his  very  own. 
So  pledged  this  hour,  by  that  most  sacred  tie 
Save  one  beneatli  (Jod's  over-arching  sky. 


<)2  MAURINE. 

1   could  not -wait  to  toll  you  of  my   bliss  : 

I    \vant  your  blessing,  sweetheart !  and  your  kiss/' 

So  hiding  my  heart's  trouble  with  a  smile, 

I  leaned  and  kissed  her  dainty  mouth  ;  the  while 

J  tclt  a  guilt-joy,  as  of  some  sweet  sin, 

When   my  lips  fell   whore   his  so  late  had   been. 

And  all  day  long  T  bore  about  with  me 

A  sense  of  shame — yet  mixed  with  satisfaction, 

As*  some  starved  child  might  steal  a  loaf,  and  bo 

Sad  with  the  guilt  resulting-. from  her  action, 

While  yet  the  morsel  in  her  mouth  was  sweet. 

That  ev'ning  when  the  house  had  settled  down 

To  sleep  and -quiet,  to  my  room  there  crept 

A  lithe  young  form,  robed  in  a  long  white  gown  : 

With  steps  like  fall  of  thistle-down  she  came, 

Her    mouth  smile-wreathed  ;    and,    breathing   low    my 

name, 
Nestled  in  graceful  beauty  at  my  feet. 


"  Sweetheart,"  she  murmured  softly,  "  ore  I  slept, 
I   needs  must  tell  you  all  niy  tale  of  joy. 
Beginning  where  you  left  us— you  and   Hoy. 
You  saw  the  color  flame  upon  my  cheek 
When  Vivian  spoke  of  staying.     So  did  he  : — 
And.  when  we  were  alone,  he  gazed  at  me 
With  such  a  strange  look  in  his  wondrous  eyes. 
The  silence  deepened;  and  I  tried  to  speak 
rpon  some  common  topic,  but  could  not, 
MY  heart  Avas  in  such  tumult. 


MAURINE.  <) 

"  In  this  wise 

Five  happy  moments  glided  by  us,  fraught 
With  hours  of  feeling.     Vivian   rose  up  then, 
And  came  and  stood  by  me,  and  stroked  my  hair. 
And,  in  his  low  voice,  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
Said  'Helen,  little  Helen,  frail  and  lair.' 
Then  took  my  face,  and  turned  it  to  the  light, 
And  looking  in  my  eyes,  and  seeing   what, 
Was  shining  from  them,  murmured,  sweet  and  low. 

'  Dear  eyes,  you  csjnnot  veil  the  truth  from  sight. 

': 
You  love  me  Helen  !    answer,  is  it  so?' 

And    1    made  answer  straightway,  ;  With   my   l:f'e 
And  soul,  and  strength  1  love  you,  O  my  love  !' 
He  leaned  and   took  me  gently  to  his  breast. 
And  said,  'Here  then,  this  dainty   head  shall   rest 
Henceforth  forever:     ()  my  little  dove! 
Mv  lily-bud — my  fragile  blossom-wife!''1 


"And  then    I    told   him  all  my  thoughts;   and  he 
Listened,  with  kisses  for  his  comments,  till 
My  tale  was  finished.     Then  lie  said,  'I  wil- 
He  frank  with  you  my  darling  from  the  start, 
And   hide  no  secret   from  you  in   my   heart. 
I   love  you    Helen,  but  you  are  not  first 
To  rouse  that  love  to  being.     Kre   we  met 
1    loved  a  woman   madlv — -never  dreaming 
She  was  not  all   in  truth  she  was  in  seeming. 
Enough  !  she   proved   to   be  that   thing  aceuiv    : 
Of  God  and  man — a  wily  vain  eoquette. 


94  MAURINE. 

I  hate  myself  for  having  loved  her.     Yet 

80  much  my  heart  spent  on  her,  it  must  give 

A  love  less  ardent,  and  less  prodigal, 

Albeit  just  as  tender  and  as  true — 

A  milder,  yet  a  faithful  love  to  you. 

Just  as  some  evil  fortune  might  befall 

A  man's  great  riches,  causing  him  to  live 

In  some  low  cot,  all  unpretending,  still 

As  much  his  home — as  much  his  loved  retreat, 

As  was  the  princely  palace  on  the  Jiill, 

E'en  so  I  give  you  all  that's  left,  my  sweet  ! 

Of  my  heart-fortune." 

"'That  were  more  to  me,' 
I  made  swift  smiling  answer,  'than  to  be 
The  worshipped  consort  of  a  King.'     And  so 
Our  faith  was  pledged.     But  Vivian  would  not  go 
Until  I  vowed  to  wed  him  New  Year  day. 
And  I  am  sad  because  you  go  away 
Before  that  time.     I  shall  not  feel  half  wed 
Without  you  here.     Postpone  your  -trip  and  stay. 
And  be  my  bridesmaid." 

"  Nay,  1  cannot,  dear  ! 

Twould  disarrange  our  plans  for  half  a  year. 
I'll  be  in  Europe  New  Year  day,"  I  said, 
"And  send  congratulations  by  the  cable." 
And  from  my  soul  thanked  Providence  for  sparing 
The  pain,  to  me,  of  sharing  in,  and  wearing 
The  festal  garments  of  a  wedding  scene, 
While  all  my  heart  was  hung  with  sorrow's  sable. 


MAURINE.  95 

Forgetting  for  a  season,  that  between 

The  cup  and  lip  lies  many  a  chance  of  loss, 

I  lived  in  my  near  future,  confident 

All  would  be  as  I  planned  it ;   and,  across 

The  briny  waste  of  waters,  I  should  find 

Some  balm  and  comfort  for  my  troubled  mind. 

The  sad  fall  days,  like  maidens  auburn-tressed 

And  amber-eyed,  in  purple  garments  dressed, 

Passed  by,  and  dropped  their  tears  upon  the  tomb 

Of  fair  Queen  Summer,  buried  in  her  bloom. 

Roy  left  us  for  a  time,   and  Helen  went 

To  make  the  nuptial  preparations.     Then, 

Aunt  Ruth  complained  one  day  of  feeling  ill  : 

Her  veins  ran  red  with  fever  ;   and  the  skill 

Of  two  physicians  could  not. stem  the  tide. 

The  house,  that  rang  so  late  with  laugh  and  jest, 

Grew 'ghostly  with  lo\v  whispered  sounds:  and  when 

The  Autumn  day  that  I  had  thought  to  be 

Bounding  upon  the  billows 'of  the  sea 

Came  sobbing  in,  it  found  me  pale  and  worn, 

Striving  to  keep  away  that  unloved  guest 

Who  comes  unbidden,  making  hearts  to  mourn. 


Through  all  the  anxious  weeks  I  watched  beside 
The  suffrer's  couch,  Roy  was  my  help  and  stay  ; 
Others  were,  kind,  but  he  alone  each  day, 
Brought  strength  and  comfort  by  his  cheerful  face 
And  hopeful  words,  that  fell  in  that  sad  place 
Like  rays  of  light  upon  a  darkened  way. 


<)(»>  MAURINE. 

November  passed  ,   and   winter,  crisp  and  chill, 
In  robes  of  ermine  walked  on  plain  and  hill. 
I '.(.'turning  light  and  life  dispelled  the  gloom 
That  cheated   Death  had  brought  us  from  the  tomb. 
Aunt  Ruth  was  saved,  and  slowly  getting  better- 
Was  dressed  each  day,  and  walked  about  the  room. 
Then  came  one  morning  in  the  Eastern  mail, 
A  little  white  winged  birdling  of  a  letter. 
1  broke  the.  seal,  and  read, 

"  Maurine,  my  own  ! 

I  hear  Aunt  Ruth  is  better,  and  am  glad. 
I  felt  so  sorry  for  you  ;  and  so  sad 
To  think    I   left  you  when  1  did — alone         , 
To  bear  vour  pain  and   worry,  and  those  nights 
<  )f  weary  anxious  watching. 

"  Vivian   writes 

Your  plans  are  changed'  now,  and  you  will  not  sail 
lie  fore  the  Spring  time.     So  you'll  come  and  be 
My  bridesmaid,  darling!  'Do  not  say  me  nay. 
Hut  three  weeks  more  of  girlhood  left  to  me. 
Come,  if  vou   can,  just  two   weeks   from  to-day. 
And  make  your  preparations   here.     My  sweet  ! 
Indeed   I  am  not  glad  Aunt  Ruth  was  ill — 
I'm  sorry  she  has  suffered  so  ;  and  still 
I'm  thankful  something  happened,  so  you  stayed. 
I'm  sure  my  wedding  would  be  incomplete 
Without  vour  presence.     Selfish,   I'm  afraid 
You'll  think  your  Helen.     Hut  I  love  you  so. 
How  can  1  be  quite  willing  you  should  go? 
Come  Christmas  Eve,  or  earlier.      Let  rue  know 


MAURINE. 

And  I  will  meet  you,  dearie!  at  the  train. 
Your  happy  loving  Helen." 

Then  the  pain 

That,  hidden  under  later  pain  and  care, 
Had  made  no  moan,  but  silent,  seemed  to  sleep, 
Woke  from  its  trance-like  lethargy,  to  steep 
My  tortured  heart  in  anguish  and  despair. 


I  had  relied  too  fully  on  my  skill 

In  bending  circumstances  to  my  will  : 

And  now  I   was  rebuked,  and  made  to  see 

That  .(Jot!*  alone  knoweth  what  is  to  be. 

Then  came  a  messenger  from  Vivian,  who 

Came  not  himself  as  he  was  -wont  to  do, 

But  sent  his  servant  each  new  day  to  bring 

A  kindly  message,  or  an  offering 

Of  juicy  fruits,  to  cool  the  lips  of  fever, 

Or  dainty  hot-house  blossoms,  with  their  bloom 

To  brighten  up  the  convalescent's  room. 

But  now  the  servant  only  brought  a  line 

From  Vivian  Dangerlield  to   Hoy  Montaine. 

"•Dear  Sir,  and  Friend" — in  letters  bold  and  plain. 

Written  on  cream-white  paper,  so  it  ran  : 

"  It  is  the  will  and  pleasure  of  Miss  Trevor, 

And   therefore  doubly  so  a  wish  of  mine. 

That  you  shall  honor  me  next  New  Year  Eve, 

My  wedding  hour,  by  standing  as  best  man. 

Miss  Trevor  has  six  bridesmaids  I  believe. 

Beinir  m vs. elf  a  novice  in  the  art — 


V)8  MAURINE. 

If  I  should  fail  in  acting  Avcll  my  part, 
I'll  need  protection  'gainst  the  regiment 
Of  outraged  females.     So  I  pray,  consent 
To  stand  by  me  in  time  of  need,  and  shield 
Your  friend  sincerely,  Vivian  Dangerfield." 


The  last  least  hope  has  vanished  ;  .1  must  drain, 
E'en  to  the  dregs,  this  hitter  cup  of  pain. 


MAURINE.  99 


PART    SIXTH. 


There  was  a  week  of  bustle  and  of  hurry"; 
A  stately  home  echoed  to  voices  sweet, 
Calling,  replying;   and  to  tripping  feet 
Of  busy  bridesmaids,  running  to  and  fro, 
With  all  that  girlish  fluttering  and  flurry 
Preceding  such  occasions. 

Helen's  room 

Was  like  a  lily-garden,  all  in  bloom, 
Decked  with  the  dainty  robes  of  her  trousseau. 

My  robe  was  fashioned  by  swift,  skillful  hands- 
A  thing  of  beauty,  elegant  and  rich, 
A  mystery  of  loopings,  puffs  and  bands  ; 
And  as  I  watched  it  growing,  stitch  by  stitch, 
I  felt  as  one  might  feel  who  did  behold 
With  vision  trance-like,  where  his  body  lay 
In  deathly  slumber,  simulating  clay, 
Hi^  grave-cloth  sewed  together,  fold  on  fold. 


I  lived  with  ev'ry  nerve  upon  the  strain, 

As  men  go  into  battle  ;   and  the  pain, 

That,  more  and  more,  to  my  sad  heart  revealed, 

(irew  ghastlv  with  its  horrors,  was  concealed 


MAURINE. 


From  mortal  ryes  by  superhuman  pow'r,. 
That  (iod   bestowed  upon  me,   hour  by  hour. 


What  night  the  Old  Year  gave  unto  the  New 
The  key  of  human  happiness  and  woe, 
The  pointed  stars,  upon  their  field  of  blue, 
Shone,  white  and  perfect,  o'er  a  world  below, 
Of  snow-clad  beauty;   all  the  trees  were  dressed 
In  gleaming  garments,  decked   with   diadems, 
Kach   seeming  like  a  bridal-bidden    guest, 
Coming  o'er-laden  with  a  gift  of  gems. 


The   bustle  of  the  dressing-room  ;    the  sound 

Of  eager  voices  in  discourse  ;   the  clang 

Of  "sweet  -bells  jangled";   thud  of  steel-clad  feet 

That  beat  swift  music  on  the  frozen  ground — 

All  blent  together  in   my  brain,  and  rang 

A  medley  of  strange  noises,   incomplete, 

And  full  of  discords. 

Then  out  on  the  night 
Streamed,  from  the  open  vestibule,  a  light 
That  lit  the  velvet  blossoms  which  we  trod, 
\Vith  all   the  hues  of  those  that  deck  the  soil. 
The  grand   cathedral   windows  were  ablaze 
With  gorgeous  colors  :    through  a  sea  of  bloom, 
lrp  the  long  aisle,  to  join  the  waiting  groom. 
The   bridal   cortege  passed. 


MAURINE.  101 

As  some  lost  suul 

Might  surge  on  with  the  curious  crowd,  to  ga/e 
Upon  its  coffined  body,  so  I  went 
With  that  glad  festal  throng.     The  organ  scut 
(in -at  waves  of  melody  along  the  air, 
That  broke  and  fell,  in  liquid   drops,  like  spray, 
On  uftppy  hearts  that  listened.     But  to   me 
It   sounded  faintly,  as  if  miles  away 
A  troubled  spirit,  sitting  in  despair 
Beside  the  sad  and  ever-moaning  sea. 
(lave  utterance  to  sighing  sounds  of  dole. 

\Ve  paused  before  the  altar.      Framed  in  flowers, 
The  white-robed  man  of  God  stood  forth. 

I  heard 

The  solemn  service  open  ;   through  long  hours 
1  seemed  to  stand  and  listen,  while  each  word 
Fell  on  my  ear  as  falls  the  sound  of  clay 
rpon  the  coffin  of  the  worshipped  dead. 
The  stately  father  gave  the  bride  away  : 
The  bridegroom  circled  with  a  golden  band 
The  taper  finger  of  her  dainty  hand. 
The  last  imposing,  binding  words   were  said — 
"  What  God  has  joined  let  no  man   put  asunder"- 
And  all  my  strife  with  self  was  at  an  end  ; 
Mv  lover  was  the  husband  of  mv  friend. 


How  strangelv.  in  some  aAvful   hour  of  pain, 
Ivxternal   trifles   with  our  sorrows  blend  ! 


102  MAURINE. 

I  never  hear  the  mighty  organ's  thunder, 

I  never  catch  the  scent  of  heliotrope. 

Nor  see  stained  windows  all  ablaze  with  light, 

Without  that  dizzy  whirling  of  the  brain, 

And  all  the  ghastly  feelings  of  that  night, 

When  my  sick  heart  relinquished  love  and  hope. 


The  pain  we  felt  so  keenly  .may  depart, 
And  e'en  its  memory  cease  to  haunt  the  heart ; 
But  some  slight  thing,  a  perfume,  or  a  sound 
Will  probe  the  closed  recesses  of  the  wound. 
And  for  a  moment  bring  the  old-time  smart- 


Congratulations,  kisses,  tears  and  smiles, 

Good-byes  and  farewells  given  ;   then  across 

The  snowy  waste  of  weary  wintry  miles, 

Back    to    my    girlhood's    home,    Avhere,  through    eadi 

room, 

Forever  more  pale  phantoms  of  delight 
Should  aimless  wander,   alway  in  my  sight, 
Pointing,  with  ghostly  fingers,  to  the  tomb 
Wet  with  the  tears  of  living  pain  and  loss. 


The  sleepless  nights  of  watehing  and  of  care. 
Followed  by  that  one  week  of  keenest  pain. 
Taxing  my  weakened  system,  and    my   brain, 
Brought  on  a  ling'ring  illness. 


MAURINE. 

Day  by   day, 

In  that  strange,  apathetic  state  I  lay, 
Of  mental  and  of  physical  despair. 
I  had  no  pain,  no  fever,  and  no  chill, 
But  lay  without  ambition,  strength,  or  will, 
Knowing  no  wish  for  anything  but  rest, 
Which  seemed,  of  all  God's  store  of  gifts,  the  best. 


Physicians  came  and  shook  their  heads  and  sighed  ; 
And  to  their  score  of  questions  I  replied, 
With  but  one  languid  answer,  o'er  and  o'er, 
"  I  am  so  weary — weary — nothing  more." 


I  slept,  and  dreamed  I  was  some  feathered  thing, 
Flying  through  space  with  .ever-aching  wing, 
Seeking  a  ship  called  Rest,  all  snowy  white, 
That  sailed  and  sailed  before  me,  just  in  sight, 
But  alway  one  unchanging  distance  kept, 
And  woke  more  weary  than  before  I  slept. 


I  slept,  and  dreamed  I  ran  to  win  a  prize, 

A  hand  from  Heaven  held  down  before  my  eyes. 

All  eagerness,  I  sought  it — it  was  gone, 

But  shone  in  all  its  beauty  farther  on. 

I  ran,  and  ran,  and  ran,  in  eager  quest 

Of  that  great  prize,  whereon  was  written  "rest," 


MAURINE. 


Which  ever  just  beyond  my  reach  did  gleam, 
And   wakened  doubly  weary   with  my  dream. 


1   dreamed  ]   was  a  crystal  drop  of  rain. 

That  saw  a  snow-white  lily  on  the  plain, 

And  left  the  cloud  to  nestle  in  her  breast. 

1   fell  and  fell,  but  never  more  found  rest — 

I   fell  and  fell,  but  found  no  stopping-  place, 

Through  leagues  and  leagues  of  never-ending  space. 

AVhile  .space  illimitable  stretched  befoiv. 


And  all  these  dreams  but  wearied  me  the  more. 


Familiar  voices  sounded  in  my  room — 

Aunt    Ruth's,    and    Roy's,    and    Helen's  :     but    they 

seemed 

A   part  of  some  strange  fancy  1  had  dreamed, 
And  now  remembered  dimly. 

Wrapped  in  gloom, 

.My  mind,  o'er-taxed,  lost  hold  of  time  at  last, 
Ignored  its  future,  and  forgot  its  past, 
And  groped  along  the  present,  as  a  light, 
Carried,  uncovered,  through  the  fogs  of  night, 
Will   Ilicker  faintly. 

But  I  felt,  at  length. 
When    March    winds    brought    vague    rumors    of    the 

Spring, 


MAURINE.  105 

A  certain  sense  of  "restlessness  with  rest." 
My  aching  frame  was  weary  of  repose, 
And  wanted  action. 

Then  slow-creeping  strength 

Came  back  with  Mem'ry,  hand  in  hand,  to  bring 
And  lay  upon  my  sore  and  bleeding  breast, 
Grim-visaged  Recollection's  thorny  rose. 

I   gained,    and    failed.     One    day   could   ride  and 

walk, 

The  next  would  find  me  prostrate  :   while  a  flock 
Of  ghostly  thoughts,  like  phantom  birds,  would  flit 
About  the  chambers  of  my  heart,  or  sit, 
Pale  spectres  of  the  past,  with  folded  wings, 
Perched,  silently,  upon  the  voiceless  strings, 
That  once  resounded  to  Hope's  happy  lays. 


So  passed  the  ever-changing  April  days. 
•When  May  came,  lightsome  footed,  o'er  the  lea, 
Accompanied  by  kind  Aunt  Ruth  and  Roy, 
I  bade  farewell  to  home  with  secret  joy, 
And  turned  my  wan  face  eastward,  to  the  sea. 
Roy  planned  our  route  of  travel':    for  all  lands 
Were  one  to  him.     Or  Egypt's  burning  sands, 
Or  Alps  of  Switzerland,  or  stately  Rome, 
All  were  familiar  as  the  fields  of  home. 


There  was  a  year  of  wand 'ring  to  and  fro, 
Like  restless  spirits  ;   scaling  mountain  heights  ; 


100  MAURINE. 

Dwelling  among  the  countless,  rare  delights 
Of  lands  historic  ;  turning  dusty  pages, 
Stamped  with  the  tragedies  of  mighty  ages  ; 
Gazing  upon  the  scenes  of  bloody  acts, 
Of  kings  long  buried — bare,  unvarnished  facts, 
Surpassing  wildest  fictions  of  the  brain  ; 
Rubbing  against  all  people,  high  and  low, 
And  by  this  contact  feeling  Self  to  grow 
Smaller  and  less  important,  and  the  vein 
Of  human  kindness  deeper,  seeing  God, 
Unto  the  humble  delver  on  the  sod, 
And  to  the  ruling  monarch  on  the  throne, 
Has  given  hope,  ambition,  joy,  and  pain, 
And  that  all  hearts  have  feelings  like  our  own. 


There  is  no  school  that  disciplines  the  mind, 
And  broadens  thought,  like  contact  with  mankind. 
The  college-prisoned  greybeard,  who  has  burned 
The   midnight   lamp,    and    book-bound   knowledge 

learned, 

Till  sciences  or  classics  hold  no  lore 
He  has  not  conned  and  studied,  o'er  and  o'er, 
Is  but  a  babe  in  wisdom,  when  compared 
AVith  some  unlettered  wand'rer,  who  lias  shared 
The  hospitalities  of  every  land  ; 
Felt  touch  of  brother  in  each  proffered  hand  ; 
Made  man  his  study,  and  the  world  his  college. 
And  gained  this  grand  epitome  of  knowledge  : 


MAURINE.  .     107 


Each  human  being  has  a  heart  and  soul, 
And  self  is  but  an  atom  of  the  whole. 


I  hold  he  is  best  learn-ed,  and  most  wise, 

\Vho  best  and  most  can  love  and  sympathi/e. 

Book-wisdom  makes  us  vain  and  self-contained  ; 

Our  banded  minds  go  'round  in  little  grooves  ; 

But  constant  friction  with  the  world  removes 

These  iron  foes  to  freedom,  and  we  rise 

To  grander  heights,  and,  all  untrammeled,  find 

A  better  atmosphere  and  clearer  skies  ; 

And  through  its  broadened  realm,  no  longer  chained, 

Thought  travels  freely,  leaving  Self  behind. 


\VhereVr  \ve  chanced  to  wander,  or  to  roam, 
(Mad  letters  came  from  Helen  ;    happy  things 
Like  little  birds  that  followed  on  swift  wings, 
Bringing  their  tender  messages  from  home. 
"Her  days  were  poems,  beautiful  complete. 
The  rhythm  perfect,  and  the  burden  sweet. 
Sin-  was  so  happy — happy,  and  so  blest.'' 


My   heart  had  found  contentment  in  that  year. 
With  health  restored,  my  life  seemed  full  of  cheer. 
The  heart  of  youth  turns  ever  to  the  light  ; 
Sorrow  and  gloom  may  curtain  it  like  night, 
But,  in  its   very  anguish  and   unrest. 


108  MAURINE. 

» 

It  beats  and  tears  the  pall-like  folds  away, 
And  finds  again  the  sunlight  of  the  day. 


And  yet,  despite  the  changes  without  measure, 
Despite  sight-seeing,  round  on  round  of  pleasure  ; 
Despite  new  friends,  new  suitors,  still  my  heart 
Was  conscious  of  a  something  lacking,  Avhere 
Love  once  had  dwelt,  and  afterward  despair. 
Now  love  was  buried  ;   and  despair  had  flown 
Before  the  healthful  zephyrs  that  had  blown 
From  heights'  serene  and  lofty  ;   and  the  place 
Where  both  had  dwelt,  was  empty  voiceless  space. 
And  so  I  took  my  long  loved  study,  art, 
The  dreary  longing  in  my  life  to  fill, 
And  worked,  and  labored,  with  a  right  good  will. 
Aunt  Ruth  and  I  took  rooms  in  Rome  ;   while  Roy 
Lingered  in  Scotland,  with  his  new  found  joy. 
A  dainty  little  lassie,  Grace  Kildare 
Had  snared  him  in  her  flossy,  flaxen  hair, 
And  made  him  captive. 

We  Avere  thrown,  by  chance, 
In  contact  with  her  people  Avhile  in  France 
The  previous  season  :   she  was  wholly  SAvect 
And  fair  and  gentle  ;   so  naive,  and  yet 
So  Avomanly,  she  Avas  at  once  the  pet 
Of  all  our  party  ;   and,  ere  many  days, 
'  \Von  by  her  fresh  face,  and  her  artless  ways, 
Rt>y  fell  a  helpless  captive  at  her  feet. 
Her  home  was  in  the  Highlands:   and  she  came 


MAURINE.  109 

Of  good  old  stock,  of  fair  untarnished  fame. 

Through  all  these  months  Roy  had  been  true  as  steel ; 

And  by  his  every  action  made  me  feel 

He  was  my  friend  and  brother,  and  no  more. 

The  same  big-souled  and  trusty  friend  of  yore. 

Yet,  in  my  secret  heart,  I  wished  I  knew, 

Whether  the  love  he  felt  one  time  was  dead, 

Or  only  hidden,  for  my  sake,  from  view. 

So  when  he  came  to  me  one  day,  and  said, 

The  velvet  blackness  of  his  eyes  ashine 

With  light  of  love  and  triumph  :    "  Cousin,  mine  ! 

Congratulate  me !     She  whom  I  adore 

Has  pledged  to  me  the  promise  of  her  hand  ; 

Her  heart  I  have  already."     I  was  glad 

With  double  gladness,  for  it  freed  my  mind 

From  fear  that  he,  in  secret,  might  be  sad. 


From  March  till  June  had  left  her  moons  behind, 

And  merged  her  rose-red  beauty  in  July, 

There  was  110  message  from  my  native  land. 

Then  came  a  few  brief  lines,  by  Vivian  penned  : 

''  Death  had  been  near  to  Helen,  but  passed  by  ; 

The  danger  was  now  over.     God  \vas  kind  ; 

The  mother  and  the  child  were  both  alive ; 

Xo  other  child  was  ever  known  to  thrive 

As  throve  this  one,  nurse  had  been  heard  to  say. 

The  infant  was  a  wonder,  every  way. 

And,  at  command  of  Helen,  he  would  send, 

A  lock  of  baby's  golden  hair  to  me. 


HO  MAURINE. 

And  did  I,  on  my  honor,  ever  see 
Such  hair  before  ?     Helen  would  write,  ere  long  : 
She  gained  quite  sloAvly,  but  would  soon  be  strong- 
Stronger  than  ever,  so  the  doctors  said." 


I  took  the  tiny  ringlet,  golden — fair, 
Mayhap  his  hand  had  severed  from  the  head 
Of  his  own  child,  and  pressed  it  to  my  cheek 
And  to  my  lips,  and  kissed  it  o'er  and  o'er. 
All  my  maternal  instincts  seemed  to  rise, 
And  clamor  for  their  rights,  while  my  wet  eyes, 
Rained  tears  upon  the  silken  tress  of  hair. 
The  woman  struggled  with  her  heart  before  ! 
It  was  the  mother  in  me  now  did  speak, 
Moaning,  like  Rachel,  that  her  babes  were  not, 
And  crying  out  against  her  barren  lot. 


Once  I  bemoaned  the  long  and  lonely  years 

That  stretched  before  me,  dark  with  love's  eclipse  ; 

And  thought  how  my  unmated  heart  would  miss 

The  shelter  of  a  broad  and  manly  breast — 

The  strong,  bold  arm — the  tender  clinging  kiss — 

And  all  pure  love's  possessions,  manifold; 

But  now  I  wept  a  flood  of  bitter  tears. 

Thinking  of  little  heads  of  shining  gold, 

That  would,  not  on  my  bosom  sink  to  rest  ; 

Of  little  hands  that  would  not  touch  my  cheek  ; 

Of  little  lisping  voices,  and  sweet  lips, 


MAURINE.  HI 

That  never  in  my  list'ning  ear  would  speak 
The  blessed  name  of  mother. 

0,  in  woman 

How  mighty  is  the  love  of  offspring !     Ere 
Unto  her  worid'ring,  untaught  mind  unfolds 
The  myst'ry  that  is  half  divine,  half  human, 
Of  life  and  birth,  the  love  of  unborn  souls 
Within  her,  and  the  mother-yearning  creeps 
Through  her  warm  heart,  and  stirs  its  hidden  deeps, 
And  grows  and  strengthens  with  each  riper  year. 


As  storms  may  gather  in  a  placid  sky, 
And  spend  their  fury,  and  then  pass  away, 
Leaving  again  the  blue  of  cloudless  day, 
E'en  so  the  tempest  of  my  grief  passed  by. 
'Twas  weak  to  mourn  for  what  I  had  resigned, 
With  the  deliberate  purpose  of  my  mind, 
To  my  sweet  friend. 

Relinquishing  my  love, 
1  gave  my  dearest  hope  of  joy  to  her. 
If  God,  from  out  his  boundless  store  above, 
Had  chosen  added  blessings  to  confer, 
1  would  rejoice,  for  her  sake — not  repine, 
That  th'  immortal  treasures  were  not  mine. 


Better  my  lonely  sorrow,  than  to  know 
My  selfish  joy  had  been  another's  woe  ; 
Better  my  grief  and  my  strength  to  control, 


112  MAURINE. 

Than  the  despair  of  her  frail-bodied  soul ; 
Better  to  go  on,  loveless,  to  the  end, 
Than  .wear   love's    rose,    whose    thorn   had    slain    my 
friend. 


Work  is  the  salve  that  heals  the  wounded  heart. 
With  will  most  resolute  I  set  my  aim 
To  enter  on  the  weary  race  for  Fame, 
And  if  I  failed  to  climb  the  dizzy  height, 
To  reach  some  point  of  excellence  in  art. 


E'en  as  the  Maker  held  earth  incomplete, 

Till  man.  was  formed,  and  placed  upon  the  sod, 

The  perfect,  living  image  of  his  God, 

All  landscape  scenes  were  lacking  in  my  sight, 

Wherein  the  human  figure  haft  no  part. 

In  that,  all  lines  of  symmetry  did  meet — 

All  hues  of  beauty  mingle.     So  I  brought 

Enthusiasm  in  abundance,  thought, 

Much  study,  and  some  talent,  day  by  day, 

To  help  me  in  my  efforts  to  portray 

The  wondrous  power,  majesty  and  grace 

Stamped  on  some  form,  or  looking  from  some  face. 

This  was  to  be  my  specialty  :     To  take 

Human  emotion  for  my  theme,  and  make 

The  unassisted  form  divine  express, 

Anger  or  Sorrow,  Pleasure,  Pain,  Distress  ; 


MAURINE.  113 

And  thus  to  build  Fame's  monument  above 
The  grave  of  my  departed  hope  and  love,     v 


This  is  not  Genius.     Genius  spreads  its  wings 
And  soars. beyond  itself,  or  selfish  things. 
Talent  has  need  of  stepping  stones  :  some  cross, 
Some  cheated  purpose,  some  great  pain  or  loss, 
Must  lay  the  groundwork,  and  arouse  ambition, 
Before  it  labors  onward  to  fruition. 


But,  as  the  lark  from  beds  of  bloom  will  rise 

And  sail  and  sing  among  the  very  skies, 

Still  mounting  near  and  nearer  to  the  light, 

Impelled  alone  by  love  of  upward  flight, 

So  Genius  soars — it  does  not  need  to  climb — 

Upon  God-given  wings,  to  heights  sublime. 

Some  sportsman's  shot,  grazing  the  singer's  throat, 

Some  venomous  assault  of  birds  of  prey, 

May  speed  its  flight  toward  the  realm  of  day, 

And  tinge  with  triumph  every  liquid  note. 

So  deathless  Genius  mounts  but  higher  yet, 

When  Strife  and  Envy  think  to  slay  or  fret. 


There  is  no  balking  Genius.     Only  death 
Can  silence  it — or  hinder.     While  there's  breath 
Or  sense  of  feeling,  it  will  spurn  the  sod, 
And  lift  itself  to  glory,  and  to  God. 


114  MAURINE. 

The  acorn  sprouted — weeds  nor  flowers  can  choke 
The  certain  growth  of  th'  upreaching  oak. 


Talent  was  mine,  not  Genius  ;   and  my  mind 
Seemed  bound  by  chains,  and  would  not  leave  behind 
Its  selfish  love  and  sorrow. 

Did  I  strive 

To  picture  some  emotion,  lo !  his  eyes, 
Of  emerald  beauty,  dark  as  ocean  dyes, 
Looked  from  the  canvas-:   and  my  buried  pain 
Rose  from  its  grave,  and  stood  by  me  alive. 
Whate'er  my  subject,  in  some  hue  or  line, 
The  glorious  beauty  of  his  face  would   shine. 


So,  for  a  time,  my  labor  seemed  in  vain. 
Since  it  but  freshened,  and  made  keener  yet. 
The  grief  my  heart  was  striving  to  forget. 


While  in  his  form  all  strength  and  magnitude 
With  grace  and  supple  sinews  were  entwined, 
While  in  his  face  all  beauties  were  combined 
Of  perfect  features,  intellect  and  truth, 
With  all  that  fine  rich  coloring  of  youth, 
How  could  my  brush  portray  aught  good  or  fair 
Wherein  no  fatal  likeness  did  intrude 
Of  him  my  soul  had  worshipped? 


MAURINE.  115 

But,  at  last, 

Hetting  a  watch  upon  my  unwise  heart 
That  thus  would  mix  its  sorrow  with  my  art, 
I  resolutely  shut  away  the  past, 
And  made  the  toilsome  present  passing  bright 
With  dreams  of  what  was  hidden  from  my  sight 
In  the  far  distant  future,  when  the  soil 
Should  yield  me  golden  fruit  for  all  my  toil. 


116  MAURINE 


OEYENTH. 


With  much  hard  labor  and  some  pleasure  fraught, 
The  months  rolled  by  me  noiselessly,  that  taught 
My  hand  to  grow  more  skillful  in  its  art, 
Strengthened  my  daring  dream  of  fame,  and  brought 
Sweet  hope  and  resignation  to  my  heart. 


Brief  letters  came  from  Helen,  now  and  then  : 

"She  was  quite  well — oh,  yes! 'quite  well,  indeed! 

But  still  so  weak  and  nervous.     By  and  by, 

When  baby,  being  older,  should  not  need 

Such  constant  care,  she  would  grow  strong  again. 

She  was  as  happy  as  a  soul  could  be  ; 

No  least  cloud  hovered  in  her  azure  sky  ; 

She  had  not  thought  life  had  such  depths  of  bliss. 

Dear  baby  sent  Maurine  a  loving  kiss, 

And  said  she  was  a  naughty,  naughty  girl, 

Not  to  come  home  and  see  ma's  little  pearl." 


No  gift  of  costly  jewels,  or  of  gold, 
Had  be^n  so  precious  or  so  dear  to  me, 
As  each  brief  line  wherein,  her  joy  was  told. 


MAURINE.  117 

It  lightened  toil,  and  took  the  edge  from  pain, 
Knowing  my  sacrifice  was  not  in  vain. 


Roy  purchased  fine 'estates  in  Scotland,  where 
He  built  a  pretty  villa-like  retreat. 
And  when  the  Roman  summer's  languid  heat 
Made  work  a  punishment,  I  turned  my  face 
Toward  the  Highlands,  and  with  Roy  and  Grace 
Found  rest  and  freedom  from  all  thought  and  care. 


I   Ava*  a  willing  worker.     Not  an  hour 

Passed  idly  by  me  :    each,  I  did  employ 

To  some  good  purpose,  ere  it  glided  on 

To  swell  the  tide  of  hours  forever  gone. 

My  first  completed  picture,  known  as  "  Joy  " 

Won  pleasant  words  of  praise.     "  Possesses  pow'r," 

•'  Displays  much  talent,"   "  Very  fairly  done." 

So  fell  the  comments  on  my  grateful  ear. 


Swift  in  the  wake  of  Joy,  and  alway  near 
Walks  her  sad  sister  Sorrow.     So  my  brush 
Began  depicting  sorrow/  heavy-eyed, 
With  pallid  visage,  ere  the  rosy  flush 
Upon  the  beaming  face  of  Joy  had  dried. 
The  careful  study  of  long  months,  it  won 
Golden  opinions  ;   even  bringing  forth 
That  certain  sign  of  merit — a  critique 


118  MAURINE. 

Which  set  both  pieces  down  as  daubs,  and  weak 
As  empty  heads  that  sang  their  praises — so 
Proving  conclusively  the  pictures'  worth. 
These  critics  and  reviewers  do  not  use 
Their  precious  ammunition  to  abuse 
A  worthless  work.     That,  left  alone,  they  know 
Will  find  its  proper  level;   and  they  aim 
Their  batteries  at  rising  works  which  claim 
Too  much  of  public  notice.     But  this  shot 
Resulted  only  in  some  noise,    which  brought 
A  dozen  people,  where  one  came  before 
To  view  my  pictures  ;   and  I  had  my  hour 
Of  holding  those  frail  baubles,  Fame  and  POWT. 
An  English   Haron  who  had  lived  two  score 
Of  his  allotted  three  score  years  and  ten, 
Bought' both  the  pieces.     He  Avas  very  kind, 
And  so  attentive,  I,  not  being  blind, 
Must  understand  Lis  meaning. 

Therefore,  when 
He  said, 

"Sweet  friend,  whom  I  .would  make  my  wife 
The  'Joy'  and  'Sorrow'  this  dear  hand  portrayed 
I  have  in  my  possession  :   now  resign 
Into  my  careful  keeping,  and  make  mine 
The  joy  and  sorrow  of  your  future  life," — 
I  was  prepared  to  answer,  but  delayed, 
Grown  undecided  suddenly. 

My   mind 

Argued  the  matter  coolly  pro  and  con, 
And  made  resolve  to  speed  his   wooing  on 


MAURINE.  11') 

And  grant  him  favor.     He  wan  good  and  kind  ; 
Not  young,  no  doubt  he  would  he  quite  content 
With  my  respect,  nor  miss  an  ardent  love  ; 
Could  give  me  ties  of  family  and  home  ; 
And  then,  perhaps,  my  mind  was  not  above 
Setting  some  value  on  a  titled  name — 
Ambitious  woman's  weakness! 

Then  my  art 

Would  be  encouraged  and  pursued  the  same, 
And  I  could  spend  my  winters  all  in  Rome. 
Love  nevermore  could  touch  my  wasteful  heart 
That  all  its  wealth  upon  one  object  spent. 
Existence  would  be  very  bleak  and  cold, 
After  long  years,  when  I  was  gray  and  old, 
With  neither  home  nor  children. 

Once  a  wife, 

I  would  forget  the  sorrow  of  my  life, 
And  pile  new  sods  upon  the  grave  of  pain. 
My  mind  so  argued  ;   and  my  sad  heart  heard, 
But  made  no  comment. 

Then  the  Baron  spoke, 
And  Availed  for  1113'  answer.     All  in  vain 
I  strove  for  strength  to  utter  that  one  word 
My  mind  dictated.     Moments  rolled  away — 
Until  at  last  my  torpid  heart  awoke, 
And  forced  my  trembling  lips  to  say  him  nay. 
And  then  my  eyes  with  sudden  tears  oYrran, 
In  pity  for  myself  and  for  this  man 
Who  stood  before  me.  lost  in  pained  surprise. 


120  MAURINE. 

"  Dear  friend,"  I  cried,  "  Dear  generous  friend,  forgive 

A  troubled  woman's  weakness  !     As  I  live, 

In  truth  I  meant  to  answer  otherwise. 

From  out  its  store,  my  heart  can  give  you  naught 

But  honor  and  respect ;   and  yet  me-thought 

I  would  give  willing  answer,  did  you  sue. 

But  now  I  know  'twere  cruel  wrong  I  planned  ; 

Taking  a  heart  that  beat  with  love  most  true, 

And  giving  in  exchange,  an  empty  hand. 

Who  weds  for  love  alone,  may  not  be  wise  : 

Who  weds  without  it,  angels  must  despise. 

Love  and  respect  together  must  combine 

To  render  marriage  holy  and  divine  ;' 

And  lack  of  either,  sure  as  Fate,  destroys 

Continuation  of  the  nuptial  joys, 

And  brings  regret,  and  gloomy  discontent 

To  put  to  rout  each  tender  sentiment. 

Nay,  nay !   I  Avill  not  burden  all  your  life 

By  that  possession — an  unloving  wife  ; 

Nor  will  I  take  the  sin  upon  my  soul 

Of  wedding  where  my  heart  goes  not  in  whole. 

However  bleak  may  be  my  single  lot, 

I  will  not  stain  my  life  with  such  a  blot. 

Dear  friend,  farewell !   the  earth  is  very  wide  ; 

It  holds  some  fairer  Avoman  for  your  bride  ; 

I   would  I  had  a  heart  to  give  to  you, 

But,  lacking  it,  can  only  say — adieu  !" 

He  whom  temptation  never  has  assailed. 
KnoAVS  not  that  subtle  sense  of  moral  strength  ; 


MAURINE.  121 

When,  sorely  tried,  we  waver,  but  at  length, 
Rise  up  and  turn  away,  not  having  failed. 


The  Autumn  of  the  third  year  came  and  went; 

The  mild  Italian  winter  was  half  spent, 

When  this  brief  message  came  across  the  sea  : 

"  My  darling  !  I  am  dying.     Come  to  me. 

Love,  which  so  long  the  growing  truth  concealed, 

Stands  pale  within  its  shadow.     O,  my  sweet ! 

This  heart  of  mine  grows  fainter  with  each  beat — 

Dying  with  very  weight  of  bliss.     0,  come  ! 

And  take  the  legacy  I  leave  to  you, 

Before  these  lips  forevermore  are  dumb, 

In  life  or  death.     Yours,  Helen  Dangerfield." 


This  plaintive  letter  bore  a  month  old.  date  ; 

And,  wild  with  fears  lest  it  had  come  too  late, 

I  bade  the  old  world  and  new  friends  adieu, 

And  with  Aunt  Ruth,  who  long  had  sighed  for  home, 

1  turned  my  back  on  glory,  art,  and  Rome. 


All  selfish  thoughts  were  merged  in  one  wild  fear 
That  she  for  whose  dear  sake  my  heart  had  bled, 
Rather  than  her  sweet  eyes  should  know  one  tear, 


122  MAURINE. 

Was  passing  from  me  ;   that  she  might  be  dead  ; 
And,  dying,  had  been  sorely  grieved  with  me, 
Because  I  made  no  answer  to  her  plea. 


"  O,  ship  that  sailest  slowly,  slowly  on, 
Make  haste  before  a  wasting  life  is  gone  ! 
Make  haste  that  I  may  catch  a  fleeting  breath  ! 
And  true  in  life,  be  true  e'en  unto  death. 


"  0,  ship  sail  on  !   and  bear  me  o'er  the  tide 
To  her  for  whom  my  woman's  heart  once  died. 
Sail,  sail,  0,  ship,  for  she  hath  need  of  me, 
And  I  would  know  what  her  last  wish  may  be  ! 
I  have  been  true,  so  true,  through  all  the  past. 
Sail,   sail,   O,   ship  !   I  Avoulcl  not  fail  at  last." 


So  prayed  my  heart  still  o'er,  and  ever  o'er, 
Until  the  weary  lagging  ship  reached  shore. 
All  sad  with  fears  that  I  had  come  too  late, 
By  that  strange  source  whence  men  communicate, 
Though  miles  on  miles  of  space  between  them  lie, 
I  spoke  with  Vivian  :   "Does  she  live?     Reply." 
The  answer  came.     "She  lives,  but  hasten,  friend  ! 
Her  journey  draweth  swiftly  to  its  end." 


Ah  me  !    ah  me  !   when  each  remembered  spot, 
My  own  dear  home,  the  lane  that  led  to  his — 


MAURINE.  123 

The  fields,  the  woods,  the  lake,  hurst  on  my  sight, 
Oh!  then,  Self  rose  up  in  asserting  might; 
Oh  !  then,  my  bursting  heart  all  else  forgot, 
But  those  sweet  early  years  of  lost  delight, 
Of  hope,  defeat,  of  anguish  and  of  bliss. 


I  have  a  theory,  vague,  undefined, 

That  each  emotion  of  the  human  mind, 

Love,  pain  or  passion,  sorrow  or  despair, 

Is  a  live  spirit,  dwelling  in  the  air, 

Until  it  takes  possession  of  some  breast ; 

And,  when  at  length,  grown  weary  of  unrest, 

\\'e  rise  up  strong  and  cast  it  from  the  heart, 

And  bid  it  leave  us  wholly,  and  depart, 

It  does  not  die,  it  cannot  die  ;   but  goes 

And  mingles  with  some  restless  wind,  that  blows 

About  the  region  where  it  had  its  birth. 

And  though  we  wander  over  all  the  earth, 

That  spirit  waits,  and  lingers,  year  by  year, 

Invisible,  and  clothed  like  the  air, 

Hoping  that  we  may  yet  again  draw  near, 

And  it  may  haply  take  us  unaware, 

And  once  more  find  safe  shelter  in  the  breast 

It  stirred  of  old  with  pleasure  or  unrest. 


Told  by  my  heart,  and  wholly  positive, 
Some  old  emotion  long  had  ceased  to  live  ; 
That,  were  it  called,  it  could  not  hoar  or  come, 


124  MAURINE. 

Because  it  was  so  voiceless '  and  so  dumb, 
Yet,  passing  where  it  first  sprang  into  life, 
My  very  soul  has  suddenly  been  rife, 
With  all  the  old  intensity  of  feeling. 
It  seemed  a  living  spirit,  which  came  stealing 
Into  my  heart  from  that  departed  day  ; 
Exiled  emotion,  which  I  fancied  clay. 


So  now  into  my  troubled  heart,  above 
The  present's  pain  and  sorrow,  crept  the  love 
And  strife  and  passion  of  a  by-gone  hour, 
Possessed  of  all  their  olden  might  and  po\vY. 
'Twas  but  a  moment,  and  the  spell  was  broken 
By  pleasant  words  of  greeting,  gently  spoken, 
And  Vivian  stood  before  us. 

But  I  saw 

In  him  the  husband  of  my  friend  alone, 
The  old  emotions  might  at  times  return, 
And  smould'ring  fires  leap  up  an  hour  and  burn  ; 
But  never  yet  had  I  transgressed  God's  law,, 
By  looking  on  the  man  I  had  resigned, 
With  any  hidden  feeling  in  my  mind, 
Which    she,    his    wife,    my    friend,    might    not    have 
known. 


He  was  but  little  altered.     From  his  face 
The  nonchalant  and  almost  haughty  grace, — 
The  lurking  laughter  waiting  in  his  eyes 


MAURINE.  125 

The  years  had  stolen,  leaving  in  the  place 

A  settled  sadness,  which  was  not  despair, 

Nor  was  it  gloom,  nor  weariness,  nor  care, 

But  something  like  the  vapor  o'er  the  skies 

In  Indian  summer,  beautiful  to  see, 

But  spoke  of  frosts  which  had  been  and  would  be. 

There  was  that  in  his  face  which  cometh  not, 

Save  when  the  soul  has  many  a  battle  fought, 

And  conquered  self,  by  constant  sacrifice.   • 


There  are  two  sculptors,  who,  with  chisels  fine, 
Render  the  plainest  features  half  divine. 
All  other  artists  strive,  and  strive  in  vain, 
To  picture  beauty  perfect  and  complete. 
Their  statues  only  crumble  at  their  feet, 
Without  the  master  touch  of  Faith  and  Pain. 
And  now  his  face,  that  perfect  seemed  before, 
Chiseled  by  these  two  careful  artists,  wore 
A  look  exalted,  which  the  spirit  gives 
When  soul  has  conquered,  and  the  body  lives 
Subservient  to  its  bidding. 


In  a  room 

Which  curtained  out  the  February  gloom, 
And,  redolent  with  perfume,  bright  with  flowers 
Rested  the  eye  like  one  of  summer's  bowers, 
I  found  my  Helen,  who  was  less  mine  now 
Than  Death's  ;   for  on  the  marble  of  her  brow, 


126  MAURINE. 

His  seal  was  stamped  indelibly. 

Her  form 

Was  like  the  slender  willow,  when  some  storm 
Has  stripped  it  bare  of  foliage.     Her  face, 
Pale  always,  now  was  ghastly  in  its  hue  : 
And,  like  two  lamps,  in  some  dark,  hollow  place, 
Burned  her  large  eyes,  grown  more  intensely  blue. 
Her  fragile  hands  displayed  each  cord  and  vein, 
And  on  her  mouth  \yas  that  drawn  look  of  pain 
Which  is  not  uttered.     Yet  an  inward  light 
Shone  through  and  made  her  wasted  features  bright 
With  an  unearthly  beauty  ;   and  an  awe 
Crept  o'er  me,  gazing  on  her,  for  I  saw 
She  was  so  near  to  Heaven  that  I  seemed 
Looking  upon  the  face  of  one  redeemed. 

She  turned  the  brilliant  lustre  of  her  eyes 
I 'pon  me.     She  had  passed  beyond  surprise, 
Or  any  strong  emotion  linked  with  clay. 
But  as  I  glided  to  her  where  she  lay, 
A  smile,  celestial  in  its  sweetness,   wreathed 
Her  pallid  features.     "  Welcome  home  !"  she  breathed. 
"  Dear  hands  !    dear  lips  !    I  touch  you  and  rejoice." 
And  like  the  dying  echo  of  a  voice 
Were-  her  faint  tones  that  thrilled  upon  my  ear. 


I  fell  upon  my  knees  beside  her  bed  ; 
All  agonies  within  my  heart  were  wed, 
While  to  the  aching  numbness  of  my  grief. 


MAURINE.  127 


Mine  eyes  refused  the  solace  of  a  tear, — 
The  tortured  soul's  most  merciful  relief. 


Her  wasted  hand  caressed  my  bended  head 
For  one  sad,  sacred  moment.     Then  she  said 
In  that  low  tone  so  like  the  wind's  refrain, 
"  Maurine,  my  own  !    give  not  away  to  pain  ; 
The  time  is  preci6us.     Ere  another  dawn 
My  soul  may  hear  the  summons  and  pass  on. 
Arise  sweet  sister  !    rest  a  little  while, 
And  when  refreshed,  come  hither.     I  grow  weak 
With  every  hour  that  passes.     I  must  speak 
And  make  my  dying  wishes  known  to-night. 
Go  now."     And  in  the  halo  of  her  smile, 
\Vhich  seemed  to  fill  the  room  with  golden  light, 
I  turned  and  left  her. 

Later  in  the  gloom 

Of  coining  night,  I  entered  that  dim  room, 
And  sat  down  by  her.     Vivian  held  her  hand  : 
And  on  the  pillow  at  her  side,  there  smiled 
The  beauteous  count 'nance  of  a  sleeping  child. 


"  Maurine,"   spoke  Helen,  "  for  three  blissful  years, 
My  heart  has  dwelt  in  an  enchanted  land  ; 
And  I  have  drank  the  sweetened  cup  of  joy, 
Without  one  drop  of  anguish,  or  alloy. 
And  so,  ere  Pain  embitters  it  with  gall, 
Or  sad-eyed  Sorrow  fills  it  full  of  tears, 


128  MAURINE. 

And  bids  me  quaff,  which  is  the  Fate  of  all 

Who  linger  long  upon  this  troubled  way, 

(rod  takes  me  to  the  realm  of  Endless  Day, 

To  mingle  with  His  angels,  who  alone 

Can  understand  such  bliss  as  I  have  known. 

I  do  not  murmur.     God  has  heaped  my  measure, 

In  three  short  years,  full  to  the  brim  with  pleasure  ; 

And,  from  the  fullness  of  an  earthly  love, 

I  pass  to  th'  Immortal  arms  above, ' 

Before  I  even  brush  the  skirts  of  Woe. 


"  I  leave  my  aged  parents  here  below, 
With  none  to  comfort  them.     Maurine,  sweet  friend  ! 
Be  kind  to  them,  and  love  them,  to  the  end, 
Which  may  not  be  far  distant. 

And  I  leave 

A  soul  immortal  in  your  charge,  Maurine. 
From  this  most  holy,  sad  and  sacred  eve, 
Till  God  shall  claim  her,,  she  is  yours  to  keep, 
To  love  and  shelter,  to  protect  and  guide." 
She  touched  the  slumb'ring  cherub  at  her  side, 
And  Vivian  gently  bore  her,  still  asleep, 
And  laid  the  precious  burden  on  my  breast. 


A  solemn  silence  fell  upon  the  scene. 

And  when  the  sleeping  infant  smiled,  and  pressnl 

My  yielding  bosom  with  her  waxen  cheek, 

I  felt  it  -would  be  sacrilege  to  speak, 


MAURINE.  129 

Such  wordless  joy  possessed  me. 

Oh  !  at  last 

This  infant,  who,  in  that  tear-blotted  past, 
Had  caused  my  soul  such  travail,  was  my  own  : 
Through  all  the  lonely  coming  years  to  be 
Mine  own  to  cherish — wholly  mine  alone. 
.  And  what  I  mourned  so  hopelessly  as  lost 
Was  now  restored,  and  given  back  to  me. 
The  dying  voice  continued  : 

"In  this  child 

You  yet  have  me,  whose  mortal  life  she  cost. 
But  all  that  was  most  pure  and  undefiled, 
And  good  within  me,  lives  in  her  again. 
Maurine,  my  husband  loves  me  ;   yet  I  know, 
Moving  about  the  wide  world,  to  and  fro, 
And  through,  and  in  the  busy  haunts  of  men, 
Not  always  will  his  heart  be  dumb  with  woe, 
But  sometime  waken  to  a  later  love. 
Nay,  hush  my  own  !   my  soul  has  passed  above 
All  selfish  feelings  !   I  would  have  it  so. 
While  I  am  with  the  angels,  blest  and  glad, 
I  would  not  have  you,  sorrowing  and  sad,      • 
In  loneliness  go  mourning  to  the  end. 
But,  love  !    I  could  not  trust  to  any  other 
The  sacred  office  of  a  foster-mother 
To  this  sweet  cherub,  save  my  own  heart  friend. 


"Teach  her  to  love  her  father's  name,  Maurine, 
Where'er  he  wanders.     Keep  my  mem'ry  green 


130  MAURINE. 

In  her  young  heart,  and  lead  her,  in  her  youth, 
To  drink  from  th'  eternal  fount  of  Truth  ; 
Vex  her  not  with  sectarian  discourse, 
Nor  strive  to  teach  her  piety  by  force  ; 
Ply  not  her  mind  with  harsh  and  narrow  creeds, 
Nor  frighten  her  with  an  avenging  (Jod, 
Who  rules  his  subjects  with  a-  burning  rod  ; 
Hut  teach  her  that  each  mortal  simply  needs 
To  lean  on  Christ — to  follow  where  he  trod — 
To  cling  to  Him  with  holy  faith  and  trust, 
And  who  so  clings,  whate'er  his  creed  is,  must 
He  safe  for  all  Eternity  and  Time. 
Toll  her  no  human  life-  can  be  sublime 
Without  this  faith.     Tell  her  that  God  is  Loir — 
And  love  his  sceptre,  and  his  throne  above  ; 
That  when  she  sins  she  wrongs  herself,  but  most 
She  wrongs  the  Shepherd  of  the  Heavenly  Host, 
Who  makes  her  cares  and  burdens  all  his  own, 
And  pleads  for  all  her  mercies  at  the  throne. 


"  Let  her  be  free  and  natural  as  the  flowers, 

That  smile  and  nod  throughout  the  summer  hours. 

Let  her  rejoice  in  all  the  joys  of  youth, 

Hut  first  impress  upon  her  mind  this  truth  : 

No  lasting  happiness  is  e'er  attained 

Save  when  the  heart  some  other  seeks  to  please. 

The  cup  of  selfish  pleasures  soon  is  drained. 

And  full  of  gall  and  bitterness  the  lees. 


MAURINE.  131 

Next  to  her  God,  teach  her  to  love  her  land  ; 
In  her  young  bosom  light  the  patriot's  flame 
Until  the  heart  within  her  shall  expand 
With  love  and  fervor  at  her  country's  name. 
( ) !  do  not  slight  this  duty,  but  inspire 
Her  woman's  soul  with  patriotic  fire. 
Upon  her  sons  the  country  yet  may  call 
To  rescue  freedom  from  an  envious  foe. 
Let  her  be  strong  to  send  them  forth  to  fall 
Hather  than  see  our  glorious  flag  laid  low. 

''  Xo  coward-mother  bears  a  valiant  son. 

He  who  lacks  valor,  better  never  be. 

( )h  !    I  were  sad  in  Heaven,  knowing  one 

Of  my  descendants  so  forgot  his  trust, 

He  did  not  strike  the  tyrant  to  the  dust, 

Who  dared  assail  the  banner  of  the  free  ! 

So  teach  my  child  that  her  blest  motherhood 

May  but  result  in  our  loved  country's  good  ; 

And  tell  her  how  our  peerless  banner  waves 

Over  a  million  martyrs  in  their  graves. 

They  gave  us  freedom  !     That  uncancelled  debt 

Only  the  basest  craven  could  forget. 

And  who  remembers,  must  as  sacred  hold 

Each  gleaming  star  and  every  waving  fold 

Of  that  dear  flag — our  martyred  sires'  bequest. 

"  Maurine,  my  o'er-taxed  strength  is  waning  ;   you 
Have  heard  my  wishes,  and  you  will  be  true 


132  MAURINE. 

In  death  as  you  have  been  in  life,  my  own  ! 

Now  leave  me  for  a  little  while  alone 

With  him — my  husband.     Dear  love  !  I  shall  rest 

So  sweetly  with  no  care  upon  my  breast. 

Good  night,  Maurine,  come  to  me  in  the  morning." 


But  lo  !   the  bridegroom  with  no  further  warning 
Came  for  her  at  the  dawning  of  the  day. 
She  heard  his  voice,  and  smiled,  and  passed  away 
Without  a  struggle. 

Leaning  o'er  her  bed 

To  give  her  greeting,  I  found  but  her  clay, 
And  Vivian  bowed  beside  it.     And  I  said, 
"  Dear  friend  !  my  soul  shall  treasure  thy  request. 
And  when  the  night  of  fever  and  unrest 
Melts  in  the  morning  of  Eternity, 
Like  a  freed  bird,  then  I  will  come  to  thee. 


I  will  come  to  thee  in  the  morning,  sweet. 
I  have  been  true  ;   and  soul  with  soul  shall  meet 
Before  God's  throne,  and  shall  not  be  afraid. 
Thou  gav'st  me  trust,  and  it  was  not  betrayed. 


I  Avill  come  to  thee  in  the  morning,  dear. 
The  night  is  dark.     I  do  not  know  how  near 
The  morn  may  be  of  that  Eternal  Day  ; 
I  can  but  keep  my  faithful  watch  and  pray. 


133 

J   will  come  to  thee  in  the  morning,  love  ; 
Wait  for  me  on  the  Eternal  Heights  above. 
The  way  is  troubled  where  my  feet  must  climb, 
Ere  I  shall  tread  the  mountain  top  sublime. 


I  will  come  in  the  morning,  O,  mine  own  ! 
But  for  a  time  must  grope  my  way  alone, 
Through  tears  and  sorrow,  till  the  Day  shall  dawn, 
And  I  shall  hear  the  summons,  and  pass  on. 


I  will  come  in  the  morning.     Rest  secure  ! 
My  hope  is  certain  and  my  faith  is  sure. 
After  the  gloom  and  darkness  of  the  night 
I  will  come  to  thee  with  the  morning  light.'' 


Three  peaceful  years  slipped  silently  away. 

We  dwelt  together  in  my  childhood's  home, 

Aunt  Ruth  and  I,  and  sunny-hearted  May. 

She  was  a  fair  and  most  exquisite  child  ; 

Her  pensive  face  was  delicate  and  mild 

I  .ike  her  dead  mother's  ;   but  through  her  dear  eyes 

Her  father  smiled  upon  me,  day  by  day. 

Afar  in  foreign  countries  did  he  roam, 

Now  resting  under  Italy's  blue  skies, 


134  MAURINE. 

And  now  with  Roy  in  Scotland. 

And  he  sent 

Brief,  friendly  letters,  telling  where  he  went 
And  what  he  saw,  addressed  to  May,  or  me. 
And  I  would  write  and  tell  him  how  she  grew — 
And  hoAV  she  talked  of  papa  o'er  the  sea 
In  her  sweet  baby  fashion  ;   how  she  knew 
His  picture  in  the  album  ;   how  each  day 
She  knelt  and  prayed  the  blessed  Lord  would  bring 
Her  own  dear  papa  back  to  little  May. 


It  was  a  Avarm  bright  morning  in  the  Spring. 
I  sat  in  that  same  sunny  portico, 
Where  I  was  sitting  seven  years  ago 
When  Vivian  came.     My  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
As  I  looked  back  across  the  checkered  years. 
How  many  were  the  changes  they  had  brought ! 
Pain,  death,  and  sorrow  !   but  the  lesson  taught 
To  my  young  heart  had  been  of  untold  worth. 
I  had  learned  how  to  "  suffer  and  grow  strong  "- 
That  knowledge  which  best'  serves  us  here  on  earth. 
And  brings  reward  in  heaven. 

Oh !   how  long 

The  years  had  been  since  that  June  morning  when 
I  heard  his  step  upon  the  walk,  and  yet 
I  seemed  to  hear  its  echo  still. 

Just  then 

Down  that  same  path  I  turned  my  eyes,  tear-wet, 
And  lo  !   the  wand'rer  from  a  foreign  land 


MAURINE.  135 

Stood  there  before  me  ! — holding  out  his  hand 
And  smiling  with  those  wond'rous  eyes  of  old. 


To  hide  my  tears,  I  ran  and  brought  his  child  ; 
But  she  was  shy,  and  clung  to  me  when  told 
This  was  papa,  for  whom  her  prayers  were  said. 
She  dropped  her  eyes  and  shook  her  little  head, 
And  would  not  by  his  coaxing  be  beguiled, 
Or  go  to  him. 

Aunt  Ruth  was  not  at  home, 
And  we  two  sat  and  talked,  as  strangers  might, 
Of  distant  countries  which  we  both  had  seen. 
But  once  I  thought  I  saw  his  large  eyes  light 
With  sudden  passion,  when  there  came  a  pause 
In  our  chit-chat,  and  then  he  spoke  : 

"  Maurinc, 

I   saw  a  number  of  your  friends  in  Rome. 
We  talked  of  you.     They  seemed  surprised,  because 
You  were  not  'mong  the  seekers  for  a  name. 
They  thought  your  whole  ambition  was  for  fame." 


"It  might  have  been,"  I  answered,  "when  my  heart 
Had  nothing  else  to  fill  it.     Now  my  art- 
Is  but  a  recreation.     I  have  this 
To  love  and  live  for,  which  I  had  not  then." 
And,  leaning  down,  I  pressed  a  tender  kiss 
Upon  my  child's  fair  brow. 


136  MAURINE. 

"And  yet,"  he  said, 

The  old  light  leaping  to  his  eyes  again, 
"And  yet,  Maurine,  they  say  you  might  have  wed 
A  noble  Baron  !   one  of  many  men 
Who  laid  their  hearts  and  fortunes  at  your  feet. 
Why  won  the  bravest  of  them  no  return?" 

I  bowed  my  head,  nor  dared  his  gaze  to  meet. 
On  cheek  and  brow  I  felt  the  red  blood  burn, 
And  strong  emotion  strangled  speech. 

He  rose 
And  came  and  knelt  beside  me. 

"Sweet,  my  sweet!" 

He  murmured  softly,    "God  in  heaven  knows 
How  well  I  loved  you  seven  years  ago. 
He  only  knows  my  anguish,  and  my  ^rief, 
AVhen  your  own  acts  forced  on  me  the  belief 
That  I  had  been  your  plaything  and  your  toy. 
Yet,  from  his  lips  I  since  have  learned  that  Roy 
Held  no  place  nearer  than  a  friend  and  brother. 
And  then  a  faint  suspicion,  undefined, 
Of  what  had  been — Avas — might  be,  stirred  my  mind, 
And  that  great  love,  I  thought  died  at  a  blow, 
Kose  up  within  me,  strong  with  hope  and  life. 

Before  all  heaven  and  the  angel  mother, 
Of  this  sweet  child  that  slumbers  on  your  heart, 
Maurine,  Maurine,  I  claim  you  for  my  wife — 
Mine  own,  forever,  until  death  shall  part  !" 


MAURINE.  1 

Through  lia})py  mists  of  upward  welling  tears, 
I   leaned,  and  looked  into  his  beauteous  eyes. 
"  Dear  heart,"   I  said,    "  if  she  who  dwells  above 
Looks  down  upon  us,  from  yon  azure  skies, 
She  can  but  bless  us,  knowing  all  these  years 
My  soul  had  yearned  in  silence  for  the  love 
That  crowned  her  life,  and  left  mine  own  so  bleak. 
I  turned  you  from  me,  for  her  fair,  frail  sake. 
For  her  sweet  child's,  and  for  my  own,  I  take 
You  back  to  be  all  mine,  forever  more." 


Just  then  the  child  upon  my  breast  awoke 
From  her  light  sleep,  and  laid  her  downy  cheek 
Against  her  father  as  he  knelt  by  me. 
And  this  unconscious  action  seemed  to  be 
A  silent  blessing,  which  the  mother  spoke 
Gazing  upon  us  from  the  mystic  shore. 


FINIS. 


SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 


SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 


KK.VI)     AT     MA  1)1  SOX,     \VIS.,    OX    TIIK    TWO    II  I'NDK  Kl)    AXI>    FIFTY-FIFTH 
ANNIVERSARY   OF   TIIK    TlIAiRIM   LAXD1XO. 


And  now,  when  poets  are  singing 

Their  songs  of  olden  days, 
And  now.  when  the  land  is  ringing 

\Vith  sweet  Centennial  lays, 
My  muse  goes  wandering  haekward. 

To  the  groundwork  of  all  these. 
To  the  time  when  our   Pilgrim   Fathers 

( 'ame  over  the  winter  seas. 


The  sons  of  a  mighty   kingdom, 
Of  a  cultured  folk  were  they; 

l>orn   amidst  pomp  and  splendor, 
P>red   in   it  dav   hv  dav. 


14-2  SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 

Children  of  bloom  and  beauty. 

Reared  under  skies  serene, 
AVhere  the  daisy  and  hawthorne  blossomed. 

And  the  ivy  was  always  green. 


And  yet,  for  the  sake  of  freedom, 

For  a  free  religious  faith, 
They  turned  from  home  and  people, 

And  stood  face  to  face  with  death. 
They  turned  from  a  tyrant  ruler, 

And  stood  on  the  new  world's  shore. 
AVith  a  waste  of  waters  behind  them, 

And  a  waste  of  land  before. 


(),  men  of  a  great   Republic  ; 

Of  a  land  of  untold  worth  ; 
Of  a  nation  that  has  no  equal 

Upon  (rod's  round  green  earth  : 
I    hear  you  sighing  and  erying 

Of  the  hard,  close  times  at  hand: 
What  think  you  of  those  old  heroes 

On  the  rock  'twixt  sea  and  land? 


The  bells  of  a  million  churches 
(lo  ringing  out  to-night, 

And  the  glitter  of  palace  windows 
Fills  all  the  land   with  light  ; 


SOUL  OF  AMERICA.  143 

And  there  is  the  home  and  college, 

And  here  is  the  feast  and  ball, 
And  the  angels  of  peace  and  freedom 

Are  hovering  over  all. 


They  had  no  church,  no  college, 

\»>  hanks,  no  mining  stock; 
They  had  hut  the  waste  before  them, 

The  sea,  and  Plymouth  Koek. 
Hut  there  in  the  night  and  tempest, 

With  gloom  on  every  hand, 
They  laid  the  first  foundation 

Of  a  nation  great  and  grand. 


There  were  no  weak  repinings, 

No  shrinking  from  what  might  be, 
But  with  their  brows  to  the  tempest. 

And  with  their  backs  to  the  sea, 
They  planned  out  a  noble  future, 

And  planted  the  corner  stone 
Of  the  grandest,  greatest  republic, 

The  world  lias  ever  known. 


<)  women   in  homes  of  splend$>r, 

0  lily-buds  frail  and  fair. 
With  fortunes  upon  your  fingers. 

And  milk-white  pearls  in  your  hair 


144  SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 

; 

I  hear  you  longing  and  sighing 
For  some  new,  fresh  delight  ; 
But  what  of  those  Pilgrim  mothers 
'On  that  December  night? 


I   hear  yon  talking  of  hardships, 

I   hear  you  moaning  of.  loss  ; 
Each  has  her  fancied  sorrow, 

Each  hears  her  self-made  cross. 
But  they,  they  had  only  their  husbands. 

The  rain,  the  rock,  and  the  sea, 
Vet.  they  looked  up  to  (u>d  and  blessed   Him. 

And  were  glad  because  thev  were  free. 


O  grand  old   Pilgrim  heroes, 

O  souls  that  were  tried  and   true. 
With  all  of  our  proud  possessions 

We  are  humbled  at  thought  of  you  : 
Men  of  such  might  and  muscle, 

Women  so  brave  and  strong, 
Whose  faith  was  fixed  as  the  mountain, 

Through  a  night  so  dark  and  long. 


\Ve  know  of  your  grim,  grave  errors. 

As  husbands  and  as  wives  ; 
Of  the  rigid  bleak  ideas 

That  starve. 1  your  daily  lives  : 


SOUL  OF  AMERICA.  145 


( )f  pent-up,  curbed  emotions, 
Of  feelings  crushed,  suppressed, 

That  God  with  the  heart  created 
In  everv  human  breast  ; 


We  kno\v  of  that  little  remnant 

Of  British  tyranny, 
When  you  hunted  Quakers  and  witches, 

And  swung  them  from  a  tree  ; 
Yet  back  to  a  holy  motive, 

To  live  in  the  fear  of  God, 
To  a  purpose,  high,  exalted, 

To  walk  where  martyrs  trod, 


We  can  trace  your  gravest  errors  ; 

Your  aim  was  fixed  and  sure, 
And  e'en  if  your  acts  were  fanatic, 

\Ve  know  your  hearts  were  pure. 
You  lived  so  near  to  heaven, 

You  over-reached  your  trust, 
And  deemed  yourselves  creators, 

Forgetting  you  were  but  dust. 


l>ut  we  with  our  broader  visions, 
With  our  wider  realm  of  thought, 

I   often  think  would  be  better 
If  we  lived  a<  our  fathers  taught. 


146  SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 

Their  lives  seemed  bleak  and  rigid, 
Narrow,  and  void  of  bloom  ; 

Our  minds  have  too  much  freedom. 
And  conscience  too  much  room. 


They  over-reached  in  duty, 

They  starved  their  hearts  for  the  right  ; 
We  live  too  much  in  the  senses, 

We  bask  too  long  in  the  light. 
They  proved  by  their  clinging  to  Him 

The  image  of  God  in  man  ; 
And  we,  by  our  love  of  license. 

Strengthen  a  Darwin's  plan. 


But  bigotry  reached  its  limit, 

And  license  must  have  its  sway, 
And  both  shall  result  in  profit 

To  those  of  a  later  day. 
With  the  fetters  of  slavery  broken, 

And  freedom's  flag  unfurled, 
Our  nation  strides  onward  and  upward, 

And  stands  the  peer  of  the  world. 


Spires  and  domes  and   steeples. 

Glitter  from  shore  to  shore  ; 
The  waters'  are  white  with  commerce, 

The  earth  is  studded  with  ore; 


SOUL  OF  AMERICA. 

Peace  is  sitting  above  us, 

And  Plenty  with  laden  hand, 

Wedded  to  sturdy  Labor, 

(Joes  singing  through  the  land. 


Then  let  each  child  of  the-  nation, 

AVho  glories  in   being  free, 
Remember 'the  Pilgrim   Fathers 

"\Ylio  stood   on   the  rock   bv   the  sea  : 
For  there  in  thi1  rain   and  tempest 

Of  a  nigl it  long  passed  away, 
They  sowed  the  -seeds  of  a  liar  vest 

We  leather  in  sheaves  to-dav. 


MISCELLANEOUS 
POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE  (ioSSHS. 


A   Hose  in  my  garden,  the  sweetest  and  fairest. 

Was    hanging    her    head,    through    the   long   golden 

hours, 
And  early  one  morning   I   saw  her  tears  falling. 

And  heard  a  low  gossiping  talk  in  the  bowers. 
The  Fleur-de-leus,  a  spinster  all  faded, 

AVas  telling  a   Lily  what  ailed  the  poor  Rose. 
•'That  wild  roving  bee  who  was  hanging  about  her.    • 

lias  jilted  her  squarely,  as  every  one  knows." 


"I  knew,  when  he  came,  with  his  singing  and   sighing. 

With  his  airs,  and  his  speeches,  so  tine,  and  so  sweet. 
Just  how  it  would  end  ;  but  no  one  would  believe  me. 

For  all  were  quite  ready  to  fall  at  his  feet.'' 
"Indeed  you  are  wrong,"  said  the  Lily   belle  proudly, 

"I  cared  nothing  for  him;  he  called  on  me  once. 


].V2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  would  have  come  often,   no   doubt,   if  IM   asked 

him, 

But   though    he   was    handsome,    I    thought   him    a 
dunce." 


*'  Oh,  oh,  that's  not  true  !  "   cried  the  tall  Oleander, 

"  He  has  traveled,  and  seen  every  flower  that  grows. 
And  one  who  has  supped  in  the  garden  of  Princes, 

We  all  might  have  known,  would   not    wed   with   a 

Rose." 
*'  But  wasn't  she  proud,  when  she  won  his  attentions, 

And  she  let  him  caress  her,"  said  sly  Mignonette. 
"  And  I  used  to  see  it,  and  blush  for  her  folly, 

But  the  vain   thing   believes,   he   will   come   to   her 
yet." 


"  I  thought  he  was  splendid,"   said  pretty,  pert  Lark- 
spur, 

"So  dark  and  so  grand,  with  that  gay  cloak  of  gold. 
But  he  tried  once  to  kiss  me,  the  impudent  fellow,  . 

And  I  got  offended — I  thought  him  too  bold." 
"Oh  fie!"  laughed  the  Almond,  "that  does  for  a  story: 
Though  I  hang  down  my  head,  yet    I   see   all   that 

goes; 
And    I    saw   you   reach    out,    smiling  sweet,   to  detain 

him, 

But  he  just  tapped  your  cheek?  and  flew  by  to  tin- 
Rose." 


MISCELLANEOU-S.  1  .-,;->> 

4k  He  eared  nothing  for  her,  he  only  was  flirting, 

To  while  away  time,  as  I  very  well  knew. 
80  I  turned  the  cold  shoulder  on  all  his  advances, 

Because  I  was  certain  his  heart  was  untrue.'" 
"  Well  the  Rose  is  served  right  for  her  folly,  in  trust- 
ing 

An  oily  tongued  stranger,"  quoth  proud  Columbine, 
"I    knew   what   he    was,    and    thought   once  I   would 
warn  her, 

But  you  know  the  affair  was  no  matter  of  mine.'' 


"  Oh  well !"  cried  the  Peony,  shrugging  her  shoulders, 

"I  knew  all  along,  that  the  bee  was  a  flirt. 
But    the    Rose   has    been    always    so    praised,    and    so 

petted, 

1  thought  a  good  lesson  Avould  do  her  no  hurt." 
Just    then    came    the    sound    of    a    love-song,     sung 

sweetly, 

And  I  saw  my  sad  Rose,  lifting  up  her  bowed  head. 
And   the   voice   of  the   Gossips    was    hushed  in  a  mo- 
ment, 

And  the  garden  was  still  as  the  tomb  of  the  dead. 
For  the  dark  glossy  bee  with  his  cloak  o'er  his  shoul- 
der, 
Came  swift  o'er  the  meadow,  and  kissed  the  sweet 

Rose, 
And  whispered,    "  My  darling,  I've  roamed  'the  world 

over, 
But  nothing  like  thee,  in  the  Universe  grows." 


154  MISCELLANEOUS. 


•MOTHER  LOSS. 


If  I  could  clasp  my  little  babe, 

I'pon  my  breast  to-night, 
I  would  not  mind  this  blowing  wind, 

That  shvieketh  in  affright. 
O  !    my  lost  babe,  my  little  babe, 

My  babe  with  dreamful  eyes, 
Thy  bed  is  cold,  and  night  winds  bold 

Shriek  frightful  lullabies. 


My  breast  is  softer  than  the  s:>d. 

This  room,  with  lighted  hearth, 
Is  better  place  for  thy  sweet  face, 

Than  fro/en,  Mother  Earth. 
O,  my  own  babe!  O,  my  lost  babe! 

O  babe  with  waxen  hands, 
I   want  thee  so,  I  miss  thce  so — 

Come  from  the  silent  lands. 


Xo  love,  but  mother-love,  that  fills 

Each  corner  of  the  heart  ; 
Xo  loss,  but  mother-loss,  that  chills 

And  tears  the  soul  apart. 
O,  babe!    my  babe!  my  helpless  babe! 

I  miss  thy  little  form, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Would  I  might  creep  where  them  dost  sleep. 
And  clasp  thee  through  the  storm. 


1   hold  thy  pillow  to  my  breast,. 

To  bring  a  vague  relief. 
I   sing  the  songs  that  soothed  thy  rest, 

All,  me  !   no  cheating  grief. 
My  breathing  babe,  my  sighing  babe, 

I  miss  thy  plaintive  moan. 
I  cannot  hear — thou  art  not  near, 

My  little  one,  my  own. 


Thy  father  sleeps  ;    he  mourned  thy  loss. 

But  little  fathers  know 
The  pain  that  makes  a  mother  toss 

Through  sleepless  hours  of  woe. 
My  clinging  babe!   my  nursing  babe! 

What  knows  thy  father,  man, 
IIo\v  my  breasts  miss  thy  lips'  soft  kiss? 

None  but  a  mother  can. 


Worn  out,  I  sleep  !    I  wake,  I  weep, 
I  sleep — hush,  hush,  my  dear. 

Sweet  lamb,  fear  not — O,  (iod  !    I  thought, 
I  thought  mv  babe  was  here. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


NOW  THE  DAYS  ARE  GROWING  LONGER, 


Heart  of  mine,  long  wrapped  in  grief, 
Look  abroad  and  find  relief! 
Night,  that  settled  down  so  soon, 
On  the  very  skirts  of  noon — 
Night  that  lingered,  till  the  morn 
In  the  arms  of  110011  seemed  bom — 
Night  so  cold,  and  dark  and  dreary — 
Of  its  lengthened  stay  is  weary. 
Look  up,  heart,  be  gladder,  stronger, 
For  the  days  are  growing  longer. 


Hope  seemed  buried  in  the  tomb. 
With  the  summer's  mirth  and  bloom. 
Sun  of  joy,,  and  pleasure's  light, 
All  were  lost  in  gloom  of  night. 
Night  so  long,  with  tears  and  sorrow — 
Hearts  might  break  ere  broke  the  morrow 
Day  so  short  and  night  so  long — 
Fled  the  bird  and  hushed  the  song. 
But,  my  heart,  look  up,  be  stronger, 
For  the  days  are  growing  longer. 


Sooner  o'er  the  horizon 

Creeps  the  golden  sunlight  on  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS.  157 

Slower  o'er  the  arching  way 
Scorns  to  ride  the  God  of  day. 
Later  in  the  west  at  night 
Linger  purple  tints  of  light. 
Rise,  my  heart,  rejoice,  be  stronger, 
For  the  days  are  growing  longer. 


By-and-by  the  night  will  seem 
But  a  vision-haunted  dream  ; 
By-and-by  the  day  will  be 
Long  and  glad  for  you  and  me. 
Laws  of  recompense  shall  bring 
Days  as  long  and  glad  in  spring 
As  the  nights  were  long  and  dreary. 
Heart,  of  tears  and  gloom  a- weary, 
Look  up  ;   let  thy  faith  be  stronger, 
For  the  days  are  growing  longer. 


ALL  THE  WORLD. 


All  the  world  is  full  of  babies, 
Sobbing,  sighing  everywhere  ; 

Looking  out,  with  eyes  of  terror, 
Heating  at  the  empty  air. 

Do  they  see  the  strife  before  them, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


That  they  sob  and  tremble  so? 
Oh,  the  helpless,  frightened  babies! 
Still  they  come,  and  still  they  go. 


All  the  world  is  full  of  children, 

Laughing  over  little  joys, 
Sighing  over,  little  troubles, 

Fingers  bruised  and  broken  toys  ; 
Wishing  to  be  older,  larger, 

Weeping  at  some  fancied  woe  ; 
Oh,  the  happy,  hapless  children  ! 

Still  they  come,  and  still  they  go. 


All  the  world  is  full  of  lovers, 

Walking  slowly,  whispering  sweet, 
Dreaming  dreams,  and  building  castles 

That  must  crumble  at  their  feet  ; 
Breaking  vows  and  burning  letters, 

Smiling,  lest  the  world  shall  know  ! 
Oh,  the  fooling,  trusting  lovers  ! 

Still  they  come,  and  still  they  go. 


All  the  world  is  full  of  people. 
Hurrying,  rushing,  pushing  by, 

Bearing  burdens,  carrying  crosses. 
Passing  onward  with  a  sigh  ; 

Some  there  are  with  smiling  faces. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  ir><) 

But  with  heavy  hearts  below  ; 
Oh,  the  sad-eyed,  burdened  people! 
How  thev  come,  and  how  thev  go  I 


All  the  earth  is  full  of  sleepers. 

Dust  and  bones  laid  there  to  rest  ; 
This  the  end  that  babes  and  children, 

Lovers,  people,  find  at  best. 
All  their  fears  and  all  their  crosses, 

All  their  sorrows  wearing  so. 
Oh,  the  silent,  happy  sleepers, 

Sleeping  soundly,  lying  low. 


KIVEU  AND  SEA. 


Under  the  light  of  the  silver  moon, 

We  two  sat.  when  our  hearts  where  young  ; 
The  night  was  warm  with  the  breath  of  June, 
And  loud  from  the  meadow  the  cricket  sung. 
And  darker  and  deeper,  O  love,  than  the  sea 
Were  your  dear  eyes,  as  they  beamed  on  me. 


The  moon  hung  clear,  and  the  night  was  still ; 
The  water  reilected  the  glittering  skies  ; 


160  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  nightingale  sang  on  the  distant  hill ; 

But  sweeter  than  all  was  the  light  in  your  eyes— 
Your  dear,  dark  eyes,  your  eyes  like  the  sea, — 
And  up  from  the  depths,  shone  love  for  me. 

My  heart,  like  a  river,  was  mad  and  wild — 

And  a  river  is  not  deep,  like  the  sea  ; 
Hut  I  said  your  love  was  the  love  of  a  child, 
Compared  with  the  love  that  was  felt  by  me. 
A  river  leaps  noisily,  kissing  the  land, 
But  the  sea  is  fathomless,  deep  and  grand. 

[  vowed  to  love  you,  for  ever  and  ever  ; 

I  called  you  cold,  on  that  night  in  June, 
But  my  fierce  love,  like  a  reckless  river, 

I  )ashed  on,  and  away,  and  was  spent  too  soon  ; 
While  yours — ah,  yours  was  deep,  like  the  sea 
I  cheated  you,  love,  but  /ym  died  for  me! 


THE   "COMMON  PEOPLE." 

In  journeying  o'er  life's  highway 
Where  tread  so  many  feet, 

And  people  of  all  classes, 

Must  sometimes  pass,  or  meet, 

I  think,  for  friends  or  neighbors, 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

If  I  set  out  in  quest, 
I'd  choose  the  "  common  people." 
I  find  I  like  them  best. 


I'd  look  for  truest  heart-friends, 

In  all  the  human  race, 
NOT  in  the  highest  station — 

Not  in  the  lowliest  place, 
But  'mong  the  common  people — 

Who,  neither  rich  nor  poor, 
Rejoice  in  some  few  comforts, 

While  toiling  on  for  more. 


Some  long  to  dwell  'mong  authors — 

With  great  and  gifted  men  ; 
I  like  to  listen  to  them, 

And  meet  them  now  and  then, 
But  those  who  climb  for  glory 

Dwell  so  much  in  the  skies, 
They  cannot  read  their  neighbor's  hearts- 

For  all  they  may  be  wise. 


I  like  the  common  people, 

Who  have  not  wealth,  or  fame, 

Who  own  no  greater  riches 

Than  a  humble  home  and  name. 

Among  these  unknown  toilers 


\(V2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

In  life's  great  thronged  marts 
I  find  the  deepest  thinkers — 
I  find  the  truest  hearts. 


Some  long  to  dwell  with  princes, 

Who  breathe  but  perfumed  air  ; 
What  with  their  forms  and  fashions 

But  little  comfort's  there. 
And  lives  so  used  to  plenty, 

And  hearts  so  bent  on  "style," 
Can  scarcely  understand  the  needs 

Of  lowlier  lives  the  while. 


To  reach   "  exclusive  "  circles, 

Some  think  the  height  of  bliss. 
1   want  a  wider  kingdom — 

A  freer  range  than  this. 
Out  on  the  common  highways, 

Where  common  feet  have  trod, 
I  feel  myself  on  broader  grounds — 

And  nearer  to  mv  God. 


Give  me  the  common   people- — 
Who  walk  the*  common  ways. 

They've  time  to  think  of  others'  woes 
To  sing  another's  praise. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  163 

They  dare  to  laugh  in  (Joel's  fresh  air, 

They  walk  untranimeled — free — 
With  hearts  that  feel  for  more  than  self, 

These  are  the  friends  for  me. 


OUR  BLESSINGS. 


Sitting  to-day  in  the  sunshine 

That  touched  me  wit'h  fingers  of  love, 
I    thought  of  the  manifold   blessings 

God  scatters  on  earth,  from  above  ; 
And  they  seemed,  as  I  numbered  them  over, 

Far  more  than  we  merit,  or  need, 
And  all  that  we  lack  is  the  angels 

To  make  earth  a  heaven  indeed. 


The  winter  brings  long,  pleasant  evenings, 

The  spring  brings  a  promise  of  flowers 
That  summer  breathes  into  fruition  ; 

And  autumn  1  (rings  glad,  golden  hours. 
The  woodlands  re-echo  with  music, 

The  moonbeams  cnsilver  the  sea  ; 
There  is  sunlight  and  beauty  about  us, 

And  the  world  is  as  fair  as  can  be. 


K',4  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  mortals  are  always  complaining ! 

Each  one  thinks  his  own  a  sad  lot, 
'And  forgetting  the  good  things  about  him. 

Goes  mourning  for  those  he  has  not. 
Instead  of 'the  star-spangled  heavens, 

We  look  on.  the  dust  at  our  feet ; 
We  drain  out  the  cup  that  is  bitter, 

Forgetting  the  one  that  is  sweet. 


\Ye  mourn  o'er  the  thorn  in  the  flower, 

Forgetting  its  odor  and  bloom  ; 
We  pass  by  a  garden  of  blossoms, 

To  wee})  o'er  the  dust  of  the  tomb. 
There  are  blessings  unnumbered  about  us — 

Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  they  grow  ; 
And  the  fault  is  our  own — not  the  Giver's — 

That  AVC  have  not  Eden  below. 


A  FRAGMENT. 


Your  words  came  just  when  needed.     Like  a  breeze. 
Blowing  and  bringing  from  the  wide  salt  sea 
Some  cooling  spray,  to  meadow  scorched  with  heat 
And  choked  with  dust,  and  clouds  of  sifting  sand, 
That  hateful  whirlwinds,  envious  of  its  bloom. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  !(;.") 

Had  tossed  upon  it.     But  the  cool  sea-breeze 

Can ic  laden  with  the  odors  of  the  sea 

And  damp  with,  spray,  that  laid  the  dust  and  sand 

And    brought    new    life    and    strength    to    blade    and 

bloom. 

»So  words  of  thine  carne  over  miles  to  me, 
Fresh  from  that  mighty  sea,  a  true  friend's  heart, 
And    brought    me    hope,    and    strength,    and    swept 

away 

The  dusty  webs  that  human  spiders  spun 
Across  my  path.    Friend — and  the  word  means  much — 
So  few  there  are  Avho  reach  like  thee,  a  hand 
Up  over  all  the  barking  curs  of  spite, 
And  give  the  clasp,  when  most  its  need  is  felt, — 
Friend,  newly  found,  accept  my  full  heart's  thanks. 


MISJUDGED. 


Dear  friend  who  hast  misjudged  me  so, 
The  time  may  come,  when  you  will  know 
The  wrong  you  did  me,  and  the  pain 
You  caused  the  heart  you  thought  so  vain. 


You  deemed  it  vain,  because  'twas  light ; 
.Judged  by  the  surface.     Out  of  sight 


1C,!;  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Were  chords  no  hand  had  ever  woke, 
And  yet  they  trembled  when  you  spoke. 


What  sounds  therefrom  you  might  have  brought 
(Jod  only  knows,  had  you  not  thought 
The  heart  so  vain  and  poor  a  thing 
That  all  alike  could  make  it  sin<(. 


Tis  true  it  gives  a  lightsome  air 
To  all  who  touch  it,  here  or  there. 
Harps  strung  alway  for  music  so 
Must  needs  respond  when  breezes  blo\v. 


Hut  then1  are  better  chords  that  would 
Have  answered  to  your  touch  for  good. 
Chords  full  and  deep,  and  rich  and  grand. 
Worth v  the  master's  withheld  hand. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  MANIAC1. 


I   saw  them  sitting  in  the  shade  : 

The  long  green  vines  hung  over 
lint  could  not  hide  the  gold-haired  maid 

And  Karl — my  blue-eyed  lover. 
His  arm  was  Hasped  so  close,  so  close, 

Her  eyes  were  softly  lifted, 
While  his  eyes  drank  the  cheek  of  ro-r. 

And  breast  like  snow-flakes  drifted. 


A  strange  noise  sounded  in  my  brain  : 

1  was  a  guest  unbidden. 
I  stole  away — but  came  again 

\Vith  two  steels  snugly  hidden. 
I   stood  behind  them;    close  they  kissed 

While  eye  to  eye  was  speaking. 
I  aimed  my  steels,  and  neither  missed 

The  heart  I  sent  it  seeking.  * . 


There  were  two  death  shrieks,  mingled  so 
It  seemed  like  one  voice  crying. 

[  laughed.     It  was  such  bliss,  you  know. 
To  hear,  and  see  them  dying. 

I  laughed  and  shouted,  while  I  stood 
Above  the  lovers,  gaxing 


168  MISCELLANEOUS. 

l^iou  the  little  rills  of  blood, 
And  in  the  eyes  fast  glazing. 


It  was  such  joy  to  see  the  rose 

Fade  from  her  cheek  forever  ; 
To  know  the  lips  he  kissed  so  close 

Could  answer  never — never. 
To  see  his  arm  grow  stiff  and  cold, 

And  know  it  could  not  fold  her  ; 
To  know  that  while  the  world  grew  old, 

His  eyes  could  not  behold  her. 


A  crowd  of  people  thronged  about  x 

Brought  thither  by  my  laughter  ; 
I  gave  one  last  triumphant  shout — 

And  darkness  followed  after. 
That  was  a  thousand  years  ago — 

Each  hour  I  live  it  over, 
For  here,  just  out  of  reach,  you  know, 

She  lies,  with  Earl,  my  lover. 


They  lie  there,  staring,  staring  HO. 

With  great  glazed  eyes,  to  taunt  me. 
Will  no  one  bury  them  down  low 

Where  they  shall  cease  to  haunt  me? 
He  kissed  her  lips,  not  mine.     The  flowers 

And  vines  hung  all  around  them. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1(39 

Sometimes  I  sit  and  laugh  for  hours, 
To  think  just  how  I  found  them. 


And  then  sometimes  I  stand  and  shriek 

In  agony  of  terror, 
Thinking  the  red  warms  in  her  cheek — 

Then  laugh  loud  at  my  error. 
My  cheek  was  all  too  pale,  he  thought  ; 

He  deemed  hers  far  the  brightest  ; 
Ha !   but  my  dagger  touched  a  spot 

That  made  her  cheek  turn  whitest. 


THE  CHANGE. 


Slu'  leaned  out  into  the  soft  June  weather  ; 

With  her  long  loose  tresses  the  night  breeze  played  ; 
Her  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  bells  on  the  heather  ; 

Oli,  what  is  so  fair  as  a  fair  young  maid! 


SI  10  folded  her  hands,  like  the  leaves  of  a  lily 
"My  life,"   she  said,    "is  a  night  in  June, 

Fair  and  quiet,  and  calm  and  stilly  ; 
Bring  me  a  change,  O  changeful  moon  ! 


170  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Who  would  drift  on  a  lake  forever? 

Young  hearts  weary — it  is  not  strange, 
And  sigh  for  the  beautiful  bounding  river  ; 

New  moon,  true  moon,  bring  me  a  change  ! 


The  rose  that  rivaled  her  maiden  blushes 

Dropped  from  her  breast,  at  a  stranger's  feet 
Only  a  glance  ;  but  the  hot  blood  rushes 
'  To  mantle  a  fair  face,  shy  and  sweet. 


To  and  fro,  while  the  moon  is  waning, 
They  walk,  and  the  stars  shine  on  above  ; 

And  one  is  in  earnest,  and  one  is  feigning — 
Oh,  what  is  so  sweet,  as  sweet  young  love? 


A  young  life  crushed,  and  a  young  heart  broken r 
A  bleak  wind  blows  through  the  lonely  bower, 

And  all  that  remains  of  the  love  vows  spoken 
Is  the  trampled  leaf  of  a  faded  flower. 


The  night  is  dark,  for  the  moon  is  failing — 
And  what  is  so  pale,  as  a  pale  old  moon  ! 

Cold  is. the  wind  through  the  tree  tops  wailing- 
Woe  that  the  change  should  come  so  soon  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


RELICS. 

t 

This  is  her  crochet-work,  just  as  she  left  it, 
The  spool,  with  the  needle  caught  into  its  side, 
And  the  edging  wound  up  in  a  neat  little  bundle  ; 
She  had  been  knitting,  the  day  that  she  died. 

This  is  her  dress,  hanging  here  in  the  closet, 
The  last  one  she  hung  here ;   'twill  never  be  moved  ; 
She  wore  it  the  morn  of  the  day  that  she  sickened, 
And  it  constantly  speaks  of  the.  maiden  we  loved. 

This  is  her  glove,  lying  here  on  the  table, 
Bearing  the  marks  of  her  fingers,  you  see  ; 
Just  as  she  tossed  it  aside,  I  shall  leave  it ; 
It  is  more  than  a  diamond,  or  topaz,  to  me. 

This  is  the  last  book  her  eye  ever  glanced  in, 
The  blue  ribbon  mark  shows  how  far  she  had  read. 
That  morn,  she  was  better,  she  said,  and  Avas  reading- 
Aloud  ;   and  at  a  dusk,  the  same  day,  she  was  dead. 

This  is  a  letter  :    begun,  but  not  .finished  ; 

Her  head  ached,  she  said,  and  she  laid  it  aside. 

And  these  little  relics,  so  sacredly  guarded, 

Are  all  that  are  left  of  the  dear  girl  that  died. 
1869. 


172  MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE  DREAMER. 


She  sits  in  the  winter  gloaming 

And  reads  by  the  waning  light 
The  tender  words  of  her  lover 

From  the  page  of  creamy  white  ; 
And  over  her  cheek,  like  sunbeams 

Over  the  morning  skies, 
The  blushes  of  virgin  passion 

Billow,  and  break,  and  rise. 


She  dreams  of  a  summer  coming  ; 

Of  a  fragrant  summer  night ; 
Of  a  wreath  of  orange  blossoms, 

And  a  trailing  robe  of  white  ; 
Of  lingering,  passionate  kisses — 

Of  music,  bells  and  mirth, 
And  the  light  of  joys  celestial 

Upon  the  green -clad  earth. 


O  happy  twilight  muser, 

O  heart  like  a  fluttering  dove, 

Dream  on  in  the  winter  gloaming 
Your  bright,  brief  dream  of  love. 

Dream  out  the  blissful  romance 
Your  young  life  cannot  know, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  173 


For  never  the  kiss  of  bridegroom 
Shall  fall  on  that  brow  of  snow 


Dream  on  of  a  summer  coming, 

O  young  heart  fond  and  true, 
But  the  arms  of  a  ghostly  lover 

Are  reaching  out  for  you. 
He  is  drawing  nearer,  nearer, 

With  a  robe  that  you  must  wear, 
And  a  cluster  of  white  tube-roses 

To  place  in  your  auburn  hair. 


Never  the  orange  blossoms — 

And  the  robe  is  white,  but  plain, 
With  never  a  flounce  or  ruffle, 

And  no  long,  queenly  train. 
And  the  1  tells  will  be  tolling,  tolling, 

And  there  will  be  gloom  and  tears, 
And  only  the  sounds  of  sorrow, 

When  the  bridegroom  Death  appears. 


But  dream  out  your  dream,  my  maiden  ; 

You  have  the  sweetest  part, 
And  death  shall  come  and  claim  you, 

Ere  sorrow  strikes  your  heart. 
Better  the  pale  tube-roses, 

And  the  robe  with   never  a  fold, 


174  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Than  the  faded  orange  blossoms, 
Trampled,  and  stained,  and  old, 


Better  the  fair  young  maiden, 

Buried  in  all  her  bloom, 
Than  the  life  of  a  hopeless  woman, 

With  her  heart  in  a  living  tomb. 
Better  to  read  the  prologue, 

And  never  another  page, 
Than  to  wait  and  finish  the  story, 

In  a  querulous,  bleak  old  age. 


So  dream  in  the  winter  twilight ; 

You  have  the  sweetness  now ; 
And  the  bridegroom  Death  shall  claim  you 

Ere  sorrow  marks  your  brow. 


NORINE. 


-  What  shall  I  wear  to  the  ball,  MaBellr, 
What  shall  I  wear  to  the  ball? 

Make  me  fairer  than  tongue  can  tell — 
Make  me  the  fairest  of  all." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  175 

""Fair?     You  are  always  fair  Norinc — 

Ever  and  always  fair. 
Horn  to  be  star  of  the  night,  and  queen, 

Whatever  vou  choose  to  wear!" 


"  But  I  must  be  fairer  than  ever,  MaBelle, 

Fairer  than  ever  before  ; 
That  lie  may  approve,  with,  eyes  of  love 

And  worship  forever  more." 


"  lie  /     It  has  ever  been  they,  Norinc  ! 

What !   you  who  tread  on  hearts 
And  laugh  at  their  pain,  and  call  love  vain — 

You  caught  at  last  by  its  arts?" 


"'Hush,  hush!    I  have  found  my  king  MaBelle, 

I  am  reading  the  story  old. 
Oh,  make  me  so  fair,  that  his  lips  must  swear, 

The  love  that  his  eves  have  told." 


*'  Down  to  the  carriage  swept  Norine — 

AAvay  she  rode  to  the  ball. 
Of  all  the  maidens  the  stars  had  seen — 

She  Avas  the  fairest  of  all." 


17(1  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"Oh,  put  these  baubles  away  MaBelle, 
And  help  me  to  get  undressed. 

How  weary  I  am  dear,  none  can  tell — 
I  am  longing  so  for  rest." 


"  What !    Home  from  the  ball  so  soon,  Norine, 

And  pale  as  the  robe  you  wear? 
And  how  could  the  revelers  spare  their  Queen, 

And  sav  !   did  he  think  you  fair?" 


"  Hush,  hush!   he  was  there  Avith  his  bride,  MaBelle. 

He  was  there  with  his  bride  at  the  ball, 
We  met,  in  the  crowd,  and  he  smiled  and  bowed, 

And  I  stole  away  from  them  all." 


"All  !    Mod  is  just,  and  Pie  reigns,  Xorine  ! 

Aye!   bury  your  face,  and  weep; 
Your  fault,  you  know — we  reap  as  AVC  sow- 

(io  now  to  your  troubled  sleep." 


MISCELLANEOUS.  17 


FLOWN  AWAY. 


In  the  Linden  tree  the  live-long  clay, 
A  mother  robin  has  sat  and  cried. 

"  Lonely,  lonely,"  she  seems  to  say- 
Sitting  her  empty  nest  beside. 

There's  a  dreary  void  in  her  aching  breast, 
For  in  the  dawning,  dim  and  grey, 

Her  wee  birds  rose  from  the  downy  nest, 
And  Hew  to  the  forest — away,  away. 


I  sit  at  my  window,  sad  and  alone, 

And  my  heart  echoes  the  robin's  cry  ; 
For  out  of  the  nest  my  birds  have  flown — 

And  \ve  are  so  lonely — my  heart  and  I. 
\Ve  listen  in  vain  for  the  sound  of  feet 

Kinging  and  tripping  from  stair  to  hall, 
In   vain  for  the  echo  of  voices  s\veet  ; 

A  drearv  silence  is  over  all. 


In  a  glimmer  of  gems,  and  a  sheen  of  white 
\Vith  the  orange  wreath  on  her  snowy  brow 

My  wee  bird  Maud  went  out  last  night, 
And   F  am  alone  in  the  old  home  now. 

Alone  with  the  memories  sweet  and  sad, 
That  flit  like  spirits  from  room  to  room, 


ITS  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Uright  young  faces,  and  voices  glad, 
Lips  of  sweetness  and  cheeks  of  bloom. 


Nothing  but  ghosts.     The  mother  bird 

Just  now  started  with  joyful  screams, 
For  something,  she  thought,  in  the  old  nest  stirred- 

'Twas  only  the  ghostly  feet  of  dreams. 
We  toiled  for  our  birdies  day  by  day, 

We  shielded  them  ever  with  our  own  breasts, 
Only  to  see  them  fly  away, 

And  make  their  homes  in  other  nests. 


They  follow  the  path  our  feet  have  trod — 

I  say  it  over,  and  over,  and  sigh, 
"  'Tis  the  law  of  heaven — the  will  of  God," 

Yet  we  are  so  lonely — the  bird  and  I. 
Xests  must  be  builded,  and  homes  be  made, 

The  world  must  keep  up  its  strength  and  might, 
Yet  two  lone  hearts  in  the  gathering  shade, 

Wish  that  their  birdies  were  back,  to-night. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  171) 


THP:  WORLD. 


Alone  in  my  cozy  chamber — 

Yet  I  cannot  read  or  write, 
For  the  spell  of  the  past  is  upon  me 

And  sways  my  heart  to-night. 
My  lecture  lies  half  completed  ; 

.My  books  hold  many  a  gem 
That  is  mine,  I  know,  for  the  taking- 

But  to-night  I  turn  from  them. 


0  world  !   do  you  brand  forever 

The  hearts  that  have  once  been  thine? 
Are  they  cursed  with  the  curse  of  longing 
Who  have  once  knelt  at  thy  shrine? 

1  drank  my  fill  of  thy  pleasures — 
Drank  till  the  sweets  were  sour, 

And  I  counted  the  cost — and  the  charm  was  lost 
And  1  freed  myself  from  thy  power. 


I   said,  >;  I  Avill  seek  for  knowledge  ! 

I  will  climb  to  higher  ground. 
For  there  are  on  the  hills  of  Wisdom, 

True  pleasure,  alone,  is  found." 
-So  here  with  my  books  and  studies, 


ISO  MISCELLANEOUS. 

With  my  flute,  and  violin, 
I  spend  the  days  to  my  profit — 
And  at  eve,  some  friend  drops  in. 


And  we  chat  o'er  our  cozy  supper, 

Of  Science,  Progress,  Art, 
And  I  feel  with  a  glow  of  pleasure, 

In  these  I  have  earned  a  part. 
I  shall  leave  some  good  behind  me — 

I  have  worked  for  God,  and  man  ; 
I   have  dug  some  truths  from  the  mine  of  thought. 

And  aided  an  All-wise  plan. 


And  yet — and  yet — ah  Heaven  ! 

There  come  to  me  times  like  this, 
When  I  thirst  for  empty  pleasures — 

For  the  world  and  its  cheating  hliss. 
I  long  with  sensuous  longing 

For  the  perfume,  glitter,  and  glow, 
That  drugged  the  reason  and  senses, 

And  set  the  spirits  afiow. 


Oh  to  be  back  this  moment — 
For  an  hour  of  the  old  delight ! 

Oh  for  the  strains  of  the  "Danube/' 
For  the  revel  and  ball,  to-night! 

Oil  for  the  feast,  and  the  banquet, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  181 


The  toast  and  the  maddening  wine  ! 
Oli  world!   do  you  curse  forever, 
A  heart  that  has  once  been  thine? 


A  POEM. 

READ   ItEFORE   THE   ST.   ANDREW'S  SOCIETY,   JANUARY   8,    1875. 

\Vho  sings  of  Scotland's  glories 

Can  sing  in  no  new  strain. 
The  oft  repeated  stories 

Can  but  be  told  again. 
\Ve  know  its  hills  are  rugged, 

Its  valleys  fair  and  green, 
With  nodding  copes  and  verdant  slopes, 

And  the   "  Silver  Tay  "   between. 


We  know  it's  the  land  of  beauty, 

For,  in  its  hapless  queen, 
It  gave  us  the  fairest  woman 

The  world  has  ever  seen. 
Its  daughters  are  like  its  valleys, 

So  fresh  and  blooming  fair, 
While  its  sons  are  like  its  mountains, 

That  rise  in  their  grandeur  there. 


1X2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

We  know  it's  the  land  of  genius, 

That  it  fathered  minds  of  worth, 
And  fed,  by  its  wild,  romantic  scenes, 

The  master  brains  of  earth  ; 
It  gave  us  the  songs  of  Ossian, 

Of  Campbell,  Burns  and  Scott, 
And  the  veins  of  England's  greatest  ban  I 

With  Scottish  blood  Avere  fraught. 


We  know  it's  the  land   of  heroes, 

Of  sturdy  warriors  bold  : 
The  brave  and  glorious  Wallace, 

Pendragon,  famed  of  old, 
Douglass,  and  Brace,  and  Malcolm, 

All  heroes  grand  and  strong, 
Whose  deeds  are  told  in  story, 

And  sung  in  the  poet's  song. 


We  know  how  its  noisy  bagpipe, 

With  its  clamor  wild  and  shrill, 
Has  played  alone  on  the  battle  field, 

When  horns  and  drums  were  still. 
How  once,  on  the  shores  of  India, 

And  again  at  Quebec,  its  blast 
Roused  up  the  troops  disheartened. 

And  saved  the  day  at  last. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  183- 

AVe  know  its  creed  is  simple, 

Its  faith  a  living  joy, 
Alike  to  the  holy  man  at  kirk 

And  to  the  shepherd  boy. 
And  better  than  gorgeous  temples, 

Than  mass  and  organ  blast 
Is  the  faith  they  learn  at  the  fireside 

And  keep  in  their  hearts  to  the  last. 


And  so,  in  creed  and  in  beauty, 
In  romance,  glory,  worth,     . 

In  song  and  martial  music, 
Old  Scotland  leads  the  earth. 


Who  sings  of  Scotland's  glories 

Can  sing  of  nothing  new — 
Can  but  re-tell  the  stories 

The  whole  world  knows  are  true, 
And,  though  its  sons  may  wander 

To  many  a  distant  shore. 
A  Scot's  a  Scot  forever, 

And  but  loves  his  land  the  more. 


184  MISCELLANEOUS. 


LOST. 


You  left  me  with  the  autumn  time  : 
When  winter  stripped  the  forest  bare, 

Then  dressed  it  in  his  spotless  rime  ; 
When  frosts  were  lurking  in  the  air 

You  left  me  here  and  went  away  ; 

The  winds  were  cold  ;   YOU  could  not  stav. 


You  sought  a  warmer  clime,  until 

The  South  wind,  artful  maid,  should  break 
The  winter's  trumpets,  and  should  fill 

The  air  with  songs  of  birds,  and  wake 
The  sleeping  blossoms  on  the  plain, 
And  make  the  brooks  to  now  again. 


I  thought  the  winter  desolate, 
And  all  times  felt  a  sense  of  loss. 

I  taught  my  longing  heart  to  wait, 
And  said,  "when  spring  shall  come  across 

The  hills,  with  blossoms  in  her  track, 

Then  she,  our  loved  one,  will  come  back." 


And  now  the  hills  with  grass  and  moss 

The  spring,  with  cunning  hands,  lias  spread. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  185 

And  yet  I  feel  my  grievous  loss. 

My  heart  will  not  be  comforted, 
But  crietli  daily,  "  where  is  she 
You  promised  should  come  back  to  me  ?  " 


O  Love!   where  are  you?     Day  by  day 
I  seek  to  find  you,  but  in  vain. 

.Men  point  me  to  a  grave,  and  say  : 
"There  is  her  bed,  upon  the  plain." 

But  though  I  see  110  trace  of  you, 
I  cannot  think  their  words  are  true. 


You  were  too  sweet  to  wholly  pass 
Away  from  earth,  and  leave  no  trace  ; 

You  were  too  fair  to  let  the  grass 
Grow  rank  and  tall  above  your  face. 

Your  voice,  that  mocked  the  robin's  trill, 

1   cannot  think  is  hushed  and  still. 


I  thought  I  saw  your  golden  hair, 

One  day,  and  reached  to  touch  a  strand  ; 

I  found  but  yellow  sunbeams  there  ; 
The  bright  rays  fell  aslant  my  hand 

And  seemed  to  mock,  with  lights  and  shades, 

The  silken  meshes  of  your  braids. 


ISC,  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Again,  I  thought  I  saw  your  hand 

Wave,  as  if  beckoning  to  me  ; 
1    found  'twas  but  a  lily,  fanned 
.    By  the  cool  zephyrs  from  the  sea. 
( ),  Love  !    I  find  no  trace  of  you  ; 
I  wonder  if  their  words  trcrc  true? 


One  day  I  heard  a  singing  voice — 

A  burst  of  music,  trill  on  trill, 
It  made  my  very  soul  rejoice  ; 

My  heart  gave  an  exultant  thrill. 
I  cried,    "  O  heart,  we've  found  her — hush  !'' 
But  no — 'twas  the  silver-throated  thrush. 


And  once  I  thought  I  saw  your  face, 
And  wild  with  joy  I  ran  to  you  ; 

But  found,  when  I  had  reached  the  place. 
'Twas  bat  a  blush-rose,  bathed  in  dew. 

Ah,  Love  !    I  think  you  inuvt  be  dead  ; 

And  I  believe  the  words  they  said. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  1x7 


UPON  THE  WAY. 


For  pausing  on  the  way  awhile 
To  make  some  other  pilgrim  smile, 
E'en  though  it  puts  us  back  a  mile, 

We've  time  enough  for  that,  my  friend. 
The  day  is  long,  and  bright,  and  glad  ; 
To  stop  a  bit  and  cheer  the  sad, 

Will  never  hinder  in  the  end. 


To  loiter  ever  now  and  then, 
To  answer  bitter  words  of  men, 
And  give  for  scoff  a  scoff  again, 

We  have  not  time  for  that,  my  friend. 
The  night  is  nearer  than  we  know  ; 
To  stop  and  deal  out  blow  for  blow 

Will  hinder  sorely  in  the  end. 


For  pausing  sometimes  on  the  way, 
And  seeking  some  who've  gone  astray, 
Restoring  them  to  light  and  day, 

We've  time  enough  to  spare,  .my  friend. 
To  stop  and  lift  some  other's  load. 
Will  lighten  ours  upon  the  road, 

And  can  but  help  us  in  the  end. 


188  MISCELLANEOUS. 

To  linger  by  the  road  and  wait 

Some  season  to  retaliate 

For  every  spiteful  act  of  hate, 

We  have  no  time  to  spare,  my  friend. 
To  stone  each  barking  dog  we  hear, 
To  kill  each  insect  flying  near, 

Will  onlv  hinder  in  the  end. 


To  sum  it  up  in  words  like  these, 
We've  time  to  praise,  but  none  to  tease  ; 
We've  time  to  soothe,  and  time  to  please, 

But  none  to  grieve  or  wound,  my  friend. 
And  if  we  Avisely  spend  each  day, 
A  Veil  find  true  pleasure  on  tht  way, 

And  God  will  help  us  to  the  end. 


MY  VISION. 

Wherever  my  feet  may  wander, 

Wherever  I  chance  to  be, 
There  comes,  with  the  coming  of  even-time 

A  vision  sweet,  to  me. 
I  see  my  mother  sitting 

In  the  old  familiar  place, 
And  she  rocks  to  the  tune  her  needles  sing, 

And  thinks  of  an  absent  face. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  189 


I  can  hear  the  roar  of  the  city 

About"  me  now  as  I  write  ; 
But  over  an  hundred  miles  of  snow 

My  thought-steeds  fly  to-night, 
To  the  dear  little  cosy  cottage, 

And  the  room  where  mother  sits, 
And  slowly  rocks  in  her  easy  chair 

And  thinks  of  me  as  she  knits. 


Sometimes  with  the  merry  dancers, 

When  my  feet  are  keeping  time, 
And  my  heart  heats  high,  as  young  hearts  will, 

To  the  music's  rythmic  chime, 
My  spirit  slips  over  the  distance 

Out  of  the  glitter  and  whirl, 
To  my  mother  who  sits,  and  rocks,  and  knits, 

And  thinks  of  her  "little  girl." 


When.  I  listen  to  voices  that  flatter, 

And  smile,  as  women  do, 
To  whispered  words  that  may  be  sweet, 

But  are  not  always  true, 
I  think  of  the  sweet,  quaint  picture 

Afar  in  quiet  ways, 
And  I  know  one  smile  of  my  mother's  eyes 

Is  better  than  aH  their  praise. 


]!)<)  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And   I   know  I  can  never  -wander 

Far  from  the  path  of  right, 
Though  snares  are  set  for  a  woman's  feet 

In  places  that  seem  most  bright. 
For  the  vision  is  with  me  always, 

Wherever  I  chance  to  be, 
Of  mother  sitting,  rocking  and  knitting, 

Thinking  and  praying  for  me. 


RESIGNED. 


My  babe  was  moaning  in  its  sleep  : 
I  leaned  and  kissed  it  where  it  lay  ; 

My  pain  was  such  I  could  not  weep. 
Oh,  would  God  take  my  child  away? 

lie  had  so  many  'round  his  throne — 

If  lie  took  mine — I  stood  alone  ! 


I  held  my  child  upon  my  knee  : 
It  looked  up  with  its  father's  eyes, 

Who,  ere  the  infant  came  to  me, 
Had  journeyed  homeward  to  the  skies. 

Hut  through  those  eyes,  so  sad  and  mild 

I   found  my  husband,  in  my  child. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  ]<n 

It   was  such  comfort,  night  and  day, 
T<>  watch  its  slumber — feel  its  breath — 

And  slow — so  slow — it  pined  away. 
I  heard  not  th'  approach  of  Death 

Until  he  stood  close  at  my  side, 
And  then  mv  soul  within  me  died. 


I  clasped  my  babe  with  sudden  moan. 

I  cried,  "  My  sweet,  them  shalt  not  go 
To  join  the  children  'round  the  Throne, 

For  I  have  need  of  thee  below. 
It'  (Jod  takes  thee,  I  am  bereft — 
No  hope  or  joy  or  comfort  left." 


My   babe  looked  pleading  in  my  face;* 
It  seemed  my  husband's  eyes  instead, 

And  his  voice  sounded  in  the  place, 
"  I  want  my  child  in  heaven,"  it  said. 

The  infant  raised  its  little  hands. 

And  seemed  to  reach  toward  heavenly 


The  tears  that  had  refused  to  flow, 
Came  welling  upward  from  my  heart ; 

T  sobbed,  "My  child,  then  thou  may'st  go, 
Thy  angel  father  bids  us  part. 

I  .know  in  all  that  heavenly  place 

He  ne'er  looked  on  so  sweet  a  face. 


192  MISCELLANEOUS. 

"  He  does  not  even  know  thy  name, 

And  all  these  months,  he's  longed  for  thee. 

How  could  I  so  forget  his  claim — 
And  strive  to  keep  thce  at  my  knee  ? 

Go  child — my  child — and  give  him  this — 

In  one  the  wife's  and  mother's  kiss." 


My  baby  smiled,  and  seeming  slept. 

Its  hand  grew  cold  within  my  own. 
Not  wholly  sad  the  tears  I  wept, 

For  though  I  was  indeed  alone, 
My  babe  I  knew  was  safe  at  rest 

Upon  its  angel  father's  breast. 


TWO  JUNES. 


She  sat,  Avith  her  young-old  face, 

And  her  form  of  blighted  grace, 

And  looked  with  her  sad,  unseeing  eyes, 

On  the  green  June  earth  and  the  blue  June  skies 

And  she  moaned  and  sang  in  an  undertone, 

A  song  of  Junes  to  her  heart  alone. 


"  There  was  a  June,  Oh,  ages  past ! 

When  the  davs  were  flooded  with  golden  li<>-Iit. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  the  moments  flitted  away  too  fast, 

My  heart  was  so  happy  from  morn  till  night. 

That  was  the  June  of  74. 
Strange  how  this  can  be  75! 

It  is  fully  a  hundred  years  ago 
Since  that  sweet  June  was  alive. 


Why,  then  I  had  scarcely  wept  a  tear, 

And  now  I  have  Avept  my  tears  all  dry  ; 
One  could  not  weep  so  much  in  a  year — 

It  must  be  longer  since  June  went  by. 
Yet  this  is  75,  they  say, 

And  that  was  74,  I  know  ; 
But  it  seems,  on  looking  back  to-day, 

Ages  and  ages  ago. 


Why,  then  I  was  just  in  my  youth's  glad  prime  ; 

And  now  I  am  old  in  heart  and  face. 
Could  one  grow  old  in  a  year's  short  time, 

And  lose  all  beauty  and  youth  and  grace? 
Yet  this,  they  say,  is  75, 

And  I  know  it  was  74  when 
He — yes,  I  must  have  been  alive 

One  hundred  years  since  then. 


Love  and  laughter  made  all  things  fair  ; 
Joy  sat  by  me  with  folded  wing; 


.U  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Now  each  day  is  a  blank  despair — 
Ho\v  could  a  year  change  everything? 

Sonic  one  has  figured  the  calendar  wrong- 
Tins  must  be  1975, 

And  101   years  have  dragged  along 
Since  that  sweet  June  was  alive." 


BLESS  THE   BABIES. 

HI  ess  the  little  babies  ! 

Oh,  they  make  the  home, 
Keeping  husband  evenings, 

Time  he  used  to  roam. 
Boon  companions  miss  him — 

Cards  have  lost  their  charms; 
There  he  sits  contented, 

Baby  in  his  arms. 

Bless  the  little  babies  ! 

Oh  they  strip  the  heart 
<  )f  all  false  allurements, 

By  their  native  art. 
Once  the  belle,  a  mother  ; 

Fashion,  fol-de-rol  ; 
Selfish  whims  that  spoiled  her, 

Vanish  one  and  all. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  19.-> 

Bless  the  little  babies  ! 

Bridging  many  a  breach, 
T \vixt  the  wife  and  husband, 

Binding  each  to  each. 
Husband  stops  his  growling, 

Warmed  by  baby's  smiles  : 
Wife  forgets  her  grievance, 

Watching  baby's  wiles. 


Bless  the  little  babies  ! 

Shame  upon  the  wives 
]  tilled  by  Self,  and  Fashion, 

Living  barren  lives. 
Out  upon  the  practice, 

Murder — nothing  less, 
( )f  the  scores  of  women 

God  had  meant  to  bless. 


lilcss  the  little  babies! — 

Blessings,  few  or  many, 
Pity  on  the  household 

Never  counting  any. 
It  is  like  a  garden 

Where  there  are  no  flowers 
Bless  the  pretty  blossoms, 

Filling  happy  bowers. 


li)()  MISCELLANEOUS. 


SLANDER, 


A  whispered  Avord  from  a  woman's  lips, 
As  a  slimy  snake  through  a  fair  field  slips  ; 
A  shrug,  or  a  glance,  like  a  poison  dart 
Aimed  from  behind  at  a  creature's  heart. 


The  snake  glides  stealthily  on  its  way, 
And  a  laughing  child  is  killed  at  play  ; 
The  whispered  word  gains  force,  and  lo  ! 
A  fame  is  black  that  Avas  white  as  snow. 


Dead  in  her  track  falls  the  bounding  hind, 
Slain  by  the  arrow  shot  from  behind. 
The  shrug  and  the  glance  have  gained  apace, 
And  the  light  goes  out  of  a  fair  young  face. 


Pull  out  the  dart !    Does  the  hind  awake  ? 
Does  it  bring  back  life,  though  you  kill  the  snake  ? 
Prove  the  tale  false!   yet  the  heart  is  wrung. 
Oh,  the  curse  of  God  on  a  slanderous  tongue. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  197 


THE  VOLUPTUARY. 


Oh,  I  am  sick  of  love  reciprocated  ! 

Of  hopes  fulfilled — ambitions  gratified. 
Life  holds  no  thing  to  be  anticipated, 

And  I  am  sad  from  being  satisfied. 


The  eager  joy,  felt  climbing  up  the  mountain, 
Has  left  me,  now  the  highest  peak  is  gained. 

The  crystal  spray  that  fell  from  Fame's  fair  fountain 
Was  sweeter  than  the  waters  were,  when  drained. 


The  gilded  apple  which  the  world  calls  Pleasure, 
And  which  I  purchased  with  my  youth  and  strength, 

Pleased  me  a  moment.     But  the  empty  treasure 
Lost  all  its  lustre,  and  grew  dim  at  length. 


And  love  all  glowing  with  a  golden  glory, 
Delighted  me  a  season  with  its  tale. 

It  pleased  the  longest.     But  at  last  the  story 
So  oft  repeated  to  my  heart,  grew  stale. 


I  lived  for  self,  and  all  I  sought  was  given. 
I  have  had  all,  and  now  am  sick  of  bliss. 


1<IS  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Xo  other  punishment  designed  by  heaven, 
Could  strike  me  half  so  forcibly  as  this. 


I  feel  no  sense  of  aught  but  enervation, ' 

In  all  the  joys  my  selfish  aims  have  brought. 

And  have  no  wish  but  for  annihilation, 

Since  that  would  give  me  freedom  from  all  thought. 


Oil,  blest  is  he,  who  has  some  aim  defeated, 
Some  mighty  l6ss  to  balance  all  his  gain  ! 

For  him  there  is  a  hope  not  yet  completed, 
For  him  life  yet  has  draughts  of  joy  and  pain. 


And,  cursed  is  he,  who  knows  no  balked  ambition, 
No  hopeless  hope,  no  loss  beyond  repair. 

But  sick  an.d  sated  with  complete  fruition, 
Knows  not  the  pleasure  even  of  Despair. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  l<|<> 


PRINCE  OF  THE  WALTZERS. 


Listlessly  up  the  stairway. 

And  listlessly  through  the  hall 
With  her  bright  smile  fled,  and  her  roses  dead, 

Creeps  the  belle  of  the  ball ; 
It  is  only  the  hour  of  midnight ; 

'Why  did  she  hasten  so, 
And  leave  the  Prince  of  the  Waltzers 

To  seek  for  her,  high  and  low? 


Ali me  in  her  quiet  chamber, 

She  flings  off  flowers  and  pearls, 
And  she  tosses  her  robe  in  the  corner, 

And  takes  out  the  comb  from  her  curls.. 
And  her  cheek  is  whiter  than  lilies. 

And  the  tears  they  fall  and  fall  : 

With  the  gloom  oil  her  brow,   would   you    know   her 
now, 

For  the  brilliant  belle  of  the  ball? 


To  and  fro  in  her  chamber 

She  paces  with  restless  feet ; 
She  fancies  she  hears  the  dancers, 

0 

And  the  music  beat  and  beat. 


200  MISCELLANEOUS. 

She  can  hear  the  beautiful  Danube, 
And  her  tears  fall  down  like  rain, 

For  she  knows  the  Prince  of  the  Waltzers 
In  seeking  for  her  in  vain. 


Why  did  she  leave  the  ballroom? 

Because  she  dared  not  stay, 
Lest  011  the  sweet,  sweet  music's  beat 

Her  soul  should  be  carried  away. 
For  how  can  a  woman  be  guarded 

Against  an  alluring  glance, 
Or  the  light  caress  of  a  soft  hand-press. 

In  the  swift,  bewildering  dance. 


Oh  wrhy  was  the  world  created. 

If  never  a  soul  is  glad? 
And  why  should  love  be  given 

If  only  to  make  us  sad? 
And  why  should  the  Prince  of  Walt/crs 

Be  tied  to  a  sickly  wife? 
And  why  should  the  belle  of  the  ballroom 

Love  him  better  than  life? 


Over  and  over,  these  problems 
(lo  surging  through  her  brain, 

While  afar  the  Prince  of  the  Walt/ers 
Is  seeking  for  her  in  vain. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  201 


And  not  till  over  the  mountains 
The  rays  of  the  morning  creep, 

Does  the  brilliant  belle  of  the  season 
Sink  into  a  troubled  sleep. 


Oh,  weep  in  your  slumber,  my  lady  ! 

You  shall  weep  more  bitterly  yet. 
It  is  ever  so — there  are  tears  and  woe 

For  those  who  their  God  forget. 
You  live  to  triumph  and  conquer ; 

You  are  belle  of  the  feast  and  the  ball ; 
But  the  sweets  in  the  cup — you  have  drained  them, 

And  now  you  must  drink  the  gall. 


AN  OLD  MAN'S  VIEW. 


We've  had  no  trouble,  life  and  I, 

Since  Love  shook  hands,  and  said  good-by  ; 

I  mean  that  fierce  young  love  of  youth, 

So  praised  by  poets,  but  in  truth 

An  imp,  by  wicked  fairies  sent 

To  fill  the  heart  with  discontent. 

What  time  he  occupied  my  breast, 
He  racked  me  with  a  wild  unrest. 


202  .    MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  could  not  sleep,  I  could  not  toil ; 
He  chilled  my  blood,  and  made  it  boil. 
He  tossed  me  to  a  dizzy  height, 
Then  dragged  me  to  the  depths  of  night. 


One  moment  life  would  seem  so  sweet, 
I  skimmed  the  earth  with  winged  feet. 
The  next,  'twas  like  a  cruel  weight, 
And  all  the  world  was  desolate. 
Love  kept  me  in  such  constant  strife, 
I  had  no  comfort  with  my  life. 


Now,  since  he's  ceased  to  be  my  guest 
My  fyeart  beats  calmly  in  my  breast. 
No  longer  burned  by  fears,  or  pains, 
My  blood  flows  calmly  through  my  veins,. 
A  healthy  tide  ;  and  brings  me  sleep, 
From  which  I  do  not  wake  to  weep. 


I  relish  labor,  and  my  food. 

All  day  I'm  in  a  happy  mood. 

My  books,  .my  friends,  my  toils,  bring  joy 

And  calm  content  without  alloy. 

I've  had  love's  worst,  and  best,  you  see, 

And  know  he  holds  no  more  for  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  203 

Some  hearts  there  are  God-fashioned  so, 
Love  can  come  in  but  once,  you  know. 
And  such  a  one  was  given  me. 
And  others  by  the  score  I  see 
Wherein  love  ever  comes  and  goes  ; 
I'm  glad  I  have  not  one  of  those, 


For  such  knoAv  never  that  sweet  peace, 

Which  comes  but  when  love's  visits  cease. 

No  longer  ridged  by  fear  or  doubt, 

A  level  plain  life  stretches  out, 

Just  sweetly  lighted  to  the  end 

By  star  of  faith,  and  smile  of  friend. 


DYING  YEAR. 


0  year  wherein  all  sorrows  have  been  crowded, 

O  year  more  solemn  than  all  other  years, 
( )  year  whose  skies  from  first  to  last  were  clouded 

0  year  adrip  with  salt  and  bitter  tears, 
You  die  !   and  I  could  shout  aloud  for  gladnc'—. 

To  see  you  die,  cold  1875. 
It  is  the  sole  emotion,  save  of  sadness, 

My  heart  has  felt  since  first  you  were  alive. 


204  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  very  moment  that  you  sprang  to  being, 

You  seemed  to  owe  me  bitterness  and  spite. 
And  now  I'm  filled  with  mirth  and  laughter  seeing 

How  low  you  lie,  and  in  such  humbled  plight. 
From  January  until  late  December, 

Through  all  the   months    of  Avind,    and    storm   and 

rain, 
You  gave  me  little  that  I  can  remember 

With  any  feeling  but  regret  and  pain. 


You  made  me  weep,  till  all  rny  soul  was  flooded, 

But  sent  new  hopes,  ere  reason  quite  was  lost. 
And  these  you  left  me  till  they  sweetly  budded, 

And  then  you  nipped  them  with  a  killing  frost. 
You  would  not  even  let  me  have  a  summer, 

But  sent  cold  rains  to  fill  it  full  of  gloom. 
Whoe'er,  whate'er,  may  be  this  unknown  comer, 

I  shall  rejoice  to  see  you  in  your  tomb. 


How  cold  you  are,  and  how  you  shake,  and  shiver,. 

I  love  that  wind,  that  howls  about  your  bed. 
I  love  to  see  your  palsied  limbs  a-quiver  ! 

And  know  so  soon  you  will  be  cold  and  dead. 
O  murderer,  Avho  S!CAV  my  friends  and  left  me, 

Liar,  Avho  promised,  but  who  never  gave, 
Thief,  who  of  happiness  and  hope  bereft  me, 

I  spit  upon  your  coffin  and  your  grave. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  205 


PLEA  TO  SCIENCE. 


()  Science  reaching  backward  through  the  distance, 

Most  earnest  child  of  God, 
Exposing  all  the  secrets  of  existence, 

With  thy  divining  rod, 
I  bid  thee  speed  up  to  the  heights  supernal, 

Clear  thinker,  ne'er  sufficed ; 
Go  seek  and  bind  the  laws  and  truths  eternal, 

But  leave  me  Christ. 


Upon  the  vanity  of  pious  sages 

Let  in  the  light  of  day. 
Break  down  the  superstitions  of  all  ages — 

Thrust  bigotry  away  ; 
Stride  on,  and  bid  all  stubborn  foes  defiance  ; 

Let  truth  and  reason  reign. 
But  I  beseech  thee,  O  Immortal  Science, 

Let  Christ  remain. 


What  can'st  thou  give  to  help  me  bear  my  crosses, 

In  place  of  Him,  my  Lord? 
And  Avhat  to  recompense  for  all  my  losses, 

And  bring  me  sweet  reward? 
Thin i  eouldst  not  with  thy  clear,  cold  eyes  of  reason, 

Thou  eouldst  not  comfort  me 


206  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Like  one  who  passed  through  that  tear-blotted  season, 
In  sad  Gethsemane ! 


Through  all  the  weary,  wearing  hour  of  sorrow. 

What  Avord  that  thou  hast  said, 
Would  make  me  strong  to  wait  for  some  to-morrow 

When  I  should  find  my  dead? 
When  I  am  weak,  and  desolate,  and  lonely — 

And  prone  to  follow  wrong? 
Not  thou,  O  Science— Christ,  my  Saviour,  only 

Can  make  me  strong. 


Thou  art  so  cold,  so  lofty,  and  so  distant, 

Though  great  my  need  might  be, 
No  prayer,  however  constant  and  persistent, 

Could  bi'ing  thee  down  to  me. 
Christ  stands  so  near,  to  help  me  through  each  hour, 

To  guide  me  day  by  day. 
O  Science,  sweeping  all  before  thy  power — 

Leave  Christ,  I  pray. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  -207 


TWO  SEASONS. 


He  waited  at  the  trysting  place,. 

While  she  tripped  o'er  the  meadows, 
A  girlish  creature  full  of  grace, 

Whose  step  dispelled  the  shadows. 
The  earth  lay  in  the  arms  of  June, 

She  said,  "All  life  is  beauty; 
The  svorld  is  set  in  perfect  tune  ; 

To  live  and  love  is  dutv." 


Her  lover  called  her  from  the  glade  ; 

She  loitered  on  unheeding, 
So  vised  to  love,  the  tyrant  maid 

Held  lightly  lovers'  pleading. 
"  The  days  are  long  and  sweet,"  she  laughed, 

"  Love  only  fills  one  measure  ; 
I'll  drink  of  every  other  draught, 

And  taste  of  love  at  pleasure." 

'She  gazed  across  the  Avintry  way, 

The  trysting  place  was  lonely, 
She  thought,  "How  I  would  fly  to-day, 

If  he  were  waiting  only." 
The  earth  lay  clasped  in  Winter's  hold, 

She  said,  "The  world  is  dreary. 


208  MISCELLANEOUS. 

My  life  is  very  bleak  and  cold, 
My  heart  is  very  weary." 


The  voice  that  called  her  from  the  glade, 

No  more  did  echoes  waken, 
And  losing  love,  the  saddened  maid, 

Prized  highly  what  was  taken. 
"The  days  are  long  and  lone,"  she  sighed, 

"  And  pain  fills  every  measure, 
In  vain  all  all  other  joys  I've  tried, 

Love  lost,  earth  holds  no  pleasure." 


Then  leaning  with  her  face  bowed  on  her  knees. 
She  sobbed  and  sighed  out  lonely  words  like  these: 


"  If  he  could  know  how  I  am  sitting,  lonely, 
Shunning  all  others  since  I  have  not  him  ; 

If  he  could  know  my  heart  enshrines  one  only, 
For  whom  my  longing  eyes  are  ofttimes  dim, 

He  would  come  back  across  the  weary  space, 
( Y>me  with  the  olden  lovelight  on  his  face. 


If  he  could  know  how  I  repent  in  sorrow, 
The  idle  words  that  drove  him  from  my  si.le, 

Though  leagues  away,  he  would  come  back  to-morrow. 
And  all  my  sad  life  would  be  glorified. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  20(> 

If  he  could  know  how  much  I  long  to  see 
His  face  again,  he  would  return  to  me. 

If  he  could  know  all  other  love  that's  proffered, 
I  turn  from,  deaf  to  every  honeyed  vow, 

If  he  could  know  the  tender  love  he  offered, 
My  heart  starves  for,  and  is  anhungered  now, 

He  would  come  hack  again,  he  would  forgive, 

And  I  once  more  should  smile,  rejoice,  and  live. 


If  he  could  know  how  more  and  more  I  miss  him, 
And  how  my  spirit  daily  droops  and  grieves, 

Could  know  how  much  I  long  to  clasp  and  kiss  hint 
With  the  old  fervor  of  those  summer  eves, 

He  would  come  back  and  bring  the  Long  Ago. 

Alas  !   he  comes  not,  for  he  does  not  know  !" 


QUESTIONING. 

TO   MY    LOVED   AXD  LOST    FRIEND  JANE  CRAMER,   AGED  20- 

Where  have  you  been,  through  all  these  months,  my 

dear  one, 

Since  you  went  forth  alone  that  Autumn  day? 
Through    what    great    unknown     vastness    have    you 

wandered  ? 


210 


And  were  you  never  lonely  on  the  way? 
Sometimes  you  seem  so  near,  so  near,  to  me. 
And  then  I  say.  "  Ah  no,  it  cannot  be. 
She  does  not  dwell  on  any  distant  shore, 
But  lives,  and  moves  beside  me  ever  more." 


What  have  you  seen  in  all  this  time,  my  loved  one, 
With  those  young  eyes,  so  tender,  calm,  and  dear. 
Immortal  lands  of  undulating  beauty — 

Jehovah  throned,  and  all  his  angels  near? 
Was  such  the  heaven  that  burst  upon  your  sight, 
And  were  your  eyes  so  dazzled  by  the  light. 
You  have  not  once  looked  back  on  earth  to  see, 
How  soes  the  battle  of  this  life  with  me? 


What  have  you  done  through  all  the  days,  my  brave 
one? 

An  idle  hour  on  earth  you  never  knew. 
And  all  the  joys  of  heaven  could  not  content  you. 

Unless  your  hands  had  some  good  work  to  do. 
You  would  grow  weary  even  there  of  rest. 
Some  round  of  labors  ever  pleased  you  best. 
What  are  they  now,  which  all  your  days  employ 
And  give  you  constant  and  eternal  joy  ? 


What  is  the  form  you  wear  in  heaven,  my  fair  one? 
That  queenly  shape — that  large  and  beauteous  eye, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  211 

The  long  bright  hair  that  swept  about  your  shoulders. 

Were  not  these  reproduced  again  on  high  ? 
Or  were  they  left  down  in  the  grave  with  death. 
And  what  remains — intangible  as  breath? 
Or  did  you  take  some  other  shape,  more  fair? 
And  what  name  do  they  eall  you,  over  there? 


Oh  answer  me,  my  loved  one,  and  my  lost  one ! 

Why.  once  I  could  not  ask  you  anything, 
But  you  replied  in  words  of  gracious  sweetness — 

Xow  you  are  deaf  to  all  my  questioning. 
( )  my  dead  friend  make  answer  I  implore ! 
A-  days  go  by,  I  miss  you  more  and  more. 
The  place  you  held,  no  other  friend  can  fill. 
Lean  down  and  whisper  that  you  love  me  still. 


THE  CHERUB  YEAR. 

< )  infant  New  Year !   free  from  stain, 

With  spotless  heart  and  wide,  pure  eyes, 
Young  king  of  all  the  broad  domain 

That  stretches  underneath  yon  skies, 
Know  ye  how  great  is  thy  estate? 

Know  ye  the  glory  that  ye  wear? 
Does  thy  young  heart  appreciate 

The  noble  title  that  ve  bear? 


212  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Thy  great,  great  sire  was  '76, 

Whose  fame  can  never  more  grow  dim. 
Of  ninety -nine  direct  in  line, 

Thou  only,  child,  wert  named  for  him. 
He  was  the  monarch  of  the  world  ! 

He  was  a  warrior  bold  and  free. 
Our  starry  banner  he  unfurled, 

And  waved  it  over  land  and  sea. 


He  broke  the  chain  of  Tyranny, 

And  dared  to  boldly  take  the  land 
And  wed  the  maiden  Liberty, 

And  make  her  Queen  of  all  the  land. 
O  Cherub  1876, 

(lo  think  upon  thy  great  sire's  fame. 
Come  day  or  night, — come  bloom  or  blight,- 

Strive  to  be  worthy  of  his  name. 


SWEETHEART. 

Sweetheart,  sweeter  than  all  other, 
(And  I  have  had  many  another,) 

Come  here,  please.         . 
Come  and  sit  you  down  beside  me  ; 
Chat  or  gossip,  praise  or  chide  me, 

Scold  or  tease. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  213 

Only  talk,  so  I  can  listen  ; 

Let  me  see  those  dear  eyes  glisten  ; 

Let  me  gaze 

On  that  sweet  face,  like  a  flower, 
That  shall  hold  me  with  its  power 

All  my  days. 


I  have  wooed,  as  men  do  often ; 
Scores  of  eyes  have  I  made  soften. 

But,  my  dove — 
Never  any  breathing  woman — 
Never  any  creature  human 

Won  my   love ; 

Won,  and  kept  it  still  increasing, 
Never  lessening  or  ceasing 

As  you  do. 

Never  was  my  heart  love-laden, 
Though  I've  smiled  on  many  a  maiden, 

Save  for  you. 


I'd  a  love  for  every  season. 

Ix)ved   for  this  and  for  that  reason — 

Fancy's  laws  ; 

Many  a  maid  I've  loved  for  pleasure  ; 
You  I  love  the  fullest  measure, 

Just — because. 
Maids  took  pains  to  always  please  me  ; 


214  MISCELLANEOUS. 

You,  although  you  plague  and  tease  me, 

I  adore. 

Those  I  loved,  to  keep  in  fashion  ; 
You  I  give  by  heart's  best  passion, 

Evermore. 


Foolish  maid,  is  she  refusing 

Since  she's  not  a  heart's  first  choosing? 

For  I  hold 

He  who  roams  the  wide  world  over 
Makes  at  last  the  truest 'lover, 

Good  as  gold. 

All  the  gems  of  earth  comparing, 
When  he  takes  one  for  his  wearing. 

His  to  be, 

He  knows  how  to  guard  his  treasure  ; 
Sweet,  my  latest,  dearest  pleasure, 

Come  to  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  215 


MY  LADY. 


My  lady  sits  in  her  rose-hued  room, 

And  looks  from  her  window  on  tropical  bowers  ; 
Her  life  is  a  poem  of  beauty  and  bloom, 

And  she  spends  her  days  like  the  hot-house  flowers. 


She  stars  with  fortunes  her  blue-black  hair, 
And  robed  in  the  rarest  Venetian  laces, 

She  moves  through  her  garden  frail  and  fair, 
As  one  of  the  plants  in  those  porcelain  vases. 


Has  she  a  heart?     And  of  what  is  it  made? 

Is  she  a  creature  of  earth,  quite  human? 
Is  she  a  flower  that,  placed  in  the  shade, 

Would  droop  and  die?     Or  is  she  a  woman' 


I  have  studied  the  question  and  cannot  tell, 
Whether  I  really  dare  to  love  her, 

Or  Avhether  I  might  not  worship  as  well 
One  of  the  blue  clouds  sailing  above  her. 

What  if  I  won  her?     I  would  not  dare 

To  clasp  the  wonderful  myth  to  my  bosom. 


•216  MISCELLANEOUS 

In  her  dainty  jewels,  and  laces  rare  ; 

'Twould  be  like  crushing  some  sensitive  blossom. 


Fair  to  see  as  a  work  of  art, 

I  could  gaze  forever  upon  her  beauty  ; 
But  could  she  love  with  a  woman's  heart? 

And  perform  a  wife  and  mother's  duty? 


How  could  a  creature  so  daintily  dressed, 
And  knowing  no  thought  but  her  own  sweet  pleasure, 

Nourish  a  child  from  her  lace-hung  breast, 
And  yield  her  youth  to  a  household  treasure? 


Nay,  nay  !   my  lady  keep  your  grace, 
Live  and  reign  in  your  world  of  fashion, 

And  I  will  find  me  a  plainer  face, 

And  a  heart  that  has  room  for  love  and  passion. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  217 


THE  BELLE  OF  THE  SEASON. 


Nay,  do  not  bring  me  the  jewels  ; 

Away  with  that  robe  of  white  ; 
I  am  sick  of  the  ball-room,  sister, 

I  would  rather  stay  .here  to-night. 
"The  grandest  ball  of  the  season?" 
"The  upper  ten  thousands'  shout?" 
Yes  !   yes !   I  know  it,  my  darling, 
But  I  do  not  care  to  go. 

Last  night  I  was  thinking  deeply, 

Something  I  seldom  do  ; 
You  know  I  came  home  at  midnight  ; 

AVell,  I  lay  awake  till  two. 
I  was  thinking  about  my  girlhood, 
Just  how  I  have  spent  its  years, 
And  I  blushed  for  shame,  my  darling, 

And  my  pillow  was  wet  with  tears. 


I  have-  lived  in  a  whirl  of  fashion, 
I  have  kept  right  up  to  the  style, 

I  have  learned  how  to  dance  the  German, 
How  to  bow,  and  flirt,  and  smile. 

I  have  worn  most  beautiful  dresses, 
Been  the  belle  of  many  a  ball, 


218  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  have  won  the  envy  of  women, 
And  the  praise  of  fops — that's  all. 

Does  any  one  really  respect  me? 

Could  a  single  thing  be  said 
That  would  give  the  mourners  pleasure, 

To-morrow,  if  I  were  dead? 
"She  wore  such  beautiful  dresses," 

"She'd  a  dozen  strings  to  her  bow," 
"  She  could  waltz  like  a  perfect  fairy," 

Would  you  like  me  remembered  so? 

Well,  there's  nothing  else  to  remember. 

What  thing  have  I  ever  done 
That  has  made  a  soul  the  better 

Or  cheered  a  hopeless  one? 
I  have  spent  my  time  and  money, 

The  best  of  my  fortune  and  days, 
In  gaining  the  envy  of  women, 

And  making  the  poor  fops  gaze. 

I  am  going  to  be  a  woman, 

And  live  for  others,  awhile, 
Forgetting  myself  for  a  season, 

Though  I  know  it  isn't  the  style. 
I  am  in  no  mood  for  the  revel ; 

Away  with  that  robe  of  white, 
And  1  will  stay  here  my  darling. 

And  talk  with  my  heart,   to-night. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  219 


THREE  AND  ONE. 

They  stray  through  the  sunlit  summery  weather, 
Two  maids  and  a  youth,  'neath  skies  of  blue, 

And  each  of  the  three  as  they  walk  together, 
Is  secretly  wishing  there  were  but  two. 

Yet  the  maidens  love  each  other  dearly, 
And  both  love  the  youth,  if  he  only  knew, 

And  he  loves  one  as  a  sweet  friend  only, 
And  the  other  he  loves  as  lovers  do. 


And  she  who  is  given  his  heart's  best  passion, 
Gives  back  but  a  fancy,  a  passing  whim, 

She  loves  him  only  in  coquette  fashion, 

While  the  other  maid — she  would  die  for  him. 


And  while  they  wander  across  the  meadows, 

Their  three  hearts  brimming  with  love's  sweet  pain, 

Fate  is  sitting  back  in  the  shadows, 
Weaving  for  them  a  tangled  skein. 

And  she  shall  weave  till  the  Autumn  weather, 
When  the  threads  shall  unravel  and  all  come  straight; 

l>ut  well  she  loveth  to  knot  them  together, 
And  tangle  the  ends  for  a  time,  doth  Fate. 


220  MISCELLANEOUS. 

She  tit  whose  feet  is  cast  that  treasure, 

A  man's  heart,  strong  with  love's  full  title r 

Shall '  use  it  awhile,  as  a  thing  of  pleasure, 
Bruise  it  and  break  it,  and  cast  it  aside. 

And  she  who  is  loved  as  a  sweet  friend  only,. 

Shall  find  it  bleeding  upon  the  ground, 
And  being  herself  so  sad  and  lonely, 

Shall  strive  through  pity  to  heal  the  wound. 

And  after  a  time  when  she's  hushed  its  grieving, 
She  shall  take  it,  with  all  its  wounds  and  scars 

And  hide  it  away  in  her  breast,  believing 
'Tis  the  richest  treasure  under  the  stars. 

But  the  three  walk  o'er  the  sunlit  meadows, 
And  dream  all  life  is  a  summer  land, 

And  they  pass  by  One  who  sits  in  the  shadows. 
And  see  not  the  web  in  her  bony  hands. 

And  so  we  all,  while  the  days  are  flitting, 
Plan  out  a  future  of  joys  and  pains, 

And  sec  not  Fate  in  the  shadows  sitting, 
Knotting  and  tying  her  tangled  skeins.    • 

The  v<»\vs  we  .vow,  with  a  fond  "forever," 
The  pledge  we  deem  there  can  naught  befall. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  221 

Fate  with  a  touch  of  her  hand  can  sever  ; 
Ah  me  !   it  is  folly  to  plan  at  all. 

Those  we  love  may  the  soonest  fail  us, 

We  may  learn  to  worship  whom  now  we  hate? 

And  what  do  our  plans  and  our  dreams  avail  us? 
Better  to  leave  it  all  with  Fate. 


THROUGH  TEARS. 

An  artist  toiled  over  his  pictures; 

He  lahored  by  night  and  by  day. 
He  struggled  for  glory  and  honor, 

But  the  world, — it  had  nothing  to  say. 
His  Avails  were  ablaze  with  the  splendors 

\Ve  see  in  the  beautiful  skies  ; 
But  the  world  beheld  only  the  colors 

That  were  made  out  of  chemical  dyes. 

Time  sped.     And  he  lived,  loved  and  suffered  ; 

He  passed  through  the  valley  of  grief. 
Again  he  toiled  over  his  canvas, 

Since  in  labor  alone  was  relief. 
It  showed  not  the  splendor  of  colors 

Of  those  of  his  earlier  years, 
But  the  world — the  world  bowed  down  before  it, 

1  Because  it  was  painted  with  tears. 


222  MISCELLANEOUS. 

A  poet  was  gifted  Avith  genius, 

And  he  sang,  and  he  sang  all  the  days, 
He  wrote  for  the  praise  of  the  people, 

But  the  people  accorded  no  praise. 
Oh,  his  songs  were  as  blithe  as  the  morning, 

As  sweet  as  the  music  of  birds  ; 
But  the  world  had  no  homage  -to  offer 

Because  they  were  nothing  but  words. 


Time  sped..    And  the  poet  through  sorrow 

Became  like  his  suffering  kind. 
Again  he  toiled  over  his  poems 

To  lighten  the  grief  of  his  mind. 
They  were  not  so  flowing  and  rhythmic 

As  those  of  his  earlier  years, 
.But  the  world — lo  !   it  offered  its  homage, 

Because  they  were  written  in  tears. 


So  ever  the  price  must  be  given 

By  those  seeking  glory  in  art ; 
So  ever  the  world  is  repaying 

The  grief-stricken,  suffering  heart. 
The  happy  must  ever  be  humble  ; 

Ambition  must  wait  for  the  years, 
Ere  hoping  to  win  the  approval 

Of  a  world  that  looks  on  through  its  tears. 


MISCELLANEOUS..  223 


MYSELF. 

I  was  not  meant  for  this  cold  land. 

I  am  a.  part,  of  some  far  foreign  clime. 

Where  gorgeoue-plumaged  birds  do  flit 

Among  the  tropic  blooms,  or  sit 

And  drink  the  sun,  and  "pour  it  out  in  songs. 

There,  there  my  soul  belongs. 

By  some  pre-natal  error,  I  became 

A  dweller  here,  and  shall  be  for  all  time. 

So  I  have  taught  my  heart  to  understand 

And  bear  with  this  land's  moods  of  ice  of  snow. 

Yet  me  it  doth  not  know. 

And  when  my  soul  a  thirst  for  warmth  and  light 

Sets  my  ripe  Southern  nature  all  aflame, 

The  bleak  wind  seems  to  howl  out  words  of  blame, 

Because  I  do  not  revel  in  its  night 

Of  endless  winter,  but  am  all  aglow 

With  life  and  color. — Me  it  doth  not  know. 

I  am  not  like  the  people  of  this  land. 

They  are  so  pale,  so  stately  and  so  cold. 

They  are  made  out  of  snow,  and  I  of  fire. 

They  know  no  intense  longing  or  desire. 

Yet  I  have  taught  my  heart  to  understand 

Their  little  feelings  :   and  have  tuned  my  lyre 

And  sung  their  songs  for  them  :   and  told 

Their  woes  and  sorrows,  so  they  seemed  my  own — 

While  foreign  to  all  I  have  felt  or  known. 

And  yet  among  them  all,  there  is  no  man, 


224  MISCELLANEOUS. 

And  not  one  woman,  who  knows  me;  or  can 

Make  least  allowance,  if  for  one  small  hour 

My  heart  blooms  out  like  some  great  tropic  fiower- 

Ignores  their  dull,  pale,  soulless  hues,  and  speaks 

Its  orient  thoughts  and  feelings  on  my  cheeks. 

I  live  not  like  the  people  of  this  land. 

They  live  for  gold,  for  narrow  aims,  for  fashion, 

They  hate,  they  envy,  and  they  dwell  in  strife. 

My  soul  is  steeped  in  color  and  in  passion. 

I  love  all  incense,  beauty,  light,  and  heat ; 

Without  them  life'  to  me  is  incomplete. 

I  am  so  full  of  love  I  cannot  hate, 

But  I  love  not  those  forms  and  airs  of  state. 

Yet  I  have  taught  my  heart  to  understand 

These  ways  and  manners,  to  adopt  this  life 

In  all  externals  lest  I  do  displease. 

But  let  me  vary  from  their  narrow  laws 

One  least  iota,  and  not  one  of  these 

<  'an  overlook  it.     Like  so  many  daws 

They  pick  at  me  in  anger  and  dismay. 

I  understand  and  pity  them,  but  they 

Can  never  comprehend  me. 

Be  it  so  ! 

But  had  I  wings,  bow  swiftly  I  would  go 
To  that  far  island,  where  I  do  belong, 
And  pour  my  soul  out  in  impassioned  song, 
And  stretch  my  limbs  in  freedom  'neath  the  trees. 
And  listen  to  the  ever  lulling  breeze, 
And  revel  in  the  seas  of  gorgeous  bloom, 
My  couch  in  life,  in  death  my  peaceful  tomb. 


esea^  ubra(y 

.M44  1876 


I  *\  ^k  '  'Mil  ill  I  /fill ! 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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